I board a flight for Anaheim, CA in eleven days. That’s less than two weeks. Roughly 264 hours. Or 15,840 minutes. Though depending on when you read this, that number could be substantially lower. Suffice it to say, it’s not long now.
At this point I should have a list. Some reference sheet where I can mark off all the things I’ve yet to do. Another for all the things I need to take. Another for all the places I need to be and when I need to be there. Do I have these lists?
Of course not. Gah!
I will. I mean, I intend to have them. A couple are even started already. Mostly in my head. Not the most reliable place to keep them, as there’s a giant hole in there that things fall through never to be seen (or remembered) again. But it’s a system.
I’ve picked out all the clothes and I’m good to go there. Five pairs of shoes is more than I’ve ever taken, but priorities change when you go from being one who will blend into the crowd and become as noticeable as the dusty fake palm tree in the corner of the lobby to one who will be on display and couldn’t blend in short of finding and Invisibility Cloak. (Should that be capitalized? I’m leaving it either way.)
You may have noticed by now I’m a little frazzled. I feel like that life-changing phone call came five minutes ago. Where did those four months go??
Just so you don’t think I’ve squandered that time, I have finished revisions on the manuscript, landed an agent (that is so fun to say) and now that agent is sending that manuscript around to editors. *insert eye twitch here* I’m also charging ahead to write the next book, which is coming along nicely. These facts are the ones that will keep me sane for the next eleven days.
Because when all this hoopla is over, there are still characters to meet and stories to plot and books to write. So that’s what I’m doing. But I’ll get to those lists. Eventually.