It’s taking longer than I’d hoped to finish Suicide is for Mortals. There are two major reasons for this: 1) I work a pay-the-rent job where I’ve been overburdened for months. I rarely get a chance to take a proper lunch break and I frequently have to stay late. This leaves me with very little time and less energy to spend on writing and revising. 2) I’m a compulsive perfectionist. I’m on the umpteenth round of revising so far and I haven’t even found an editor.
The truth is that the book will take as long as it takes. When it’s finished and available for purchase, readers will not care about when it came out compared to when I started the project; they will care about how good it is.
I made some mistakes with Charlinder’s Walk due to my suffering the Now Now Now Syndrome, and I don’t want to make those mistakes again. The mistakes are fixed now, but it would’ve been more efficient not to rush the job in the first place. It’s more important for my book to be as good as it can possibly be than for me to adhere to a self-imposed deadline.
All that said, this is basically how I feel about my life the last several months:
Not the most flattering picture of your blogger/author, but there’s a lot about the writing process you don’t want to see. Those are the eyes of a woman who is ready to punish you if you tell her anything to the effect that she shouldn’t care about getting paid for her work. Remember: we novelists are sick fucks. That pallid, stress-eating control freak right there will kill you and make it look like a suicide.