A Panicked Post of GIFs
This has been a month of slacking. My goals were simple: catch up on reviews for Wicked Lil Pixie and write a good chunk of the rough draft for October Rust, the sequel to Love You to Death.
It’s January 17th. I’m two reviews behind at WLP and have a total scene written for October Rust. I need bitch-slapped in the worst of ways.
Motivation isn’t the issue. It’s the HOLY SHIT I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S HAPPENING realization that the RT Booklovers Convention is in less than four months. FOUR MONTHS!! I have four months to get my promo, book my flight, and try really really hard not to drool all over several of my literary idols. This 
will not only be my first con as a published author, but my first FULL RT Con. How am I supposed to compose myself knowing I’ll be signing books in the same room as Kelley Armstrong, Meljean Brook, Kresley Cole, Jeaniene Frost, Jess Haines, Kim Fucking Harrison, and about a hundred other authors who reduce me to a whimpering pile of I’M NOT WORTHY?
So instead of buckling down and forging ahead like a mature, responsible, totally not hyperventilating fangirl, I stare at my computer screen. I’ve read the books I need to review. I know the plot of October Rust. My fingers simply won’t type them. A hand creeps toward the keyboard and images of me messily professing my undying love to an idol pop into my head. I reach for a pad and pen to jot down a plot idea and a book signing where no one visits my table pounds itself into my paranoid little mind. Anytime I consider taking a professional author photo, I’m reminded of this picture and am convinced all attempts at being photographed will end the same.
I have reached a point where I need to either ovary-up or shut-up. This is the line that divides the authors from the writers who just couldn’t cut it. I had years to write Love You to Death. Years to edit and tweak it and make it as close to perfect as a romance novel about female serial killers can be. I don’t have that luxury with October Rust. If I want to keep what audience I have, I need to get that sucker out. NOW.*
Today I make a change. Today I look at the horrific image of the girl to the right and I slap the unibrow right off her ridiculous face. No more procrastinating. No more fear.
