Or something. It’s probably going to be more. So can start worrying about having to cut stuff. That’ll be a nice change from worrying about whether I’m going to make it or not. Considering that this deadline is SELF-IMPOSED, this is all so ridiculous! Why did I tell people when exactly I would hand something in??? Argh! *banging head on the table* Apart from the general getting-the-manuscript-together worrying, I also worry that both my editor and my brandnew agent will think I’m not just a total bumpkin but also totally unprofessional. Argh! I mean, what do I know about proper author-editor relations? Or about proper author-agent relations? I usually just barge happily in and hope somebody will take pity on me and everything will turn out all right. Argh! Argh! Argh! *banging head on table some more*
It’s a funny thing, this worrying bit: it never seems to stop. When you go and read other authors’ blogs or to talk to other writers, you’ll soon find out that they all worry about their WIPs and their careers. Even if they are multi-published. Even if their names regularily appears on bestseller lists: the worrying seems to never stop. How very depressing.
Still, I’ve got only about 60 more pages to write! And I’m tentatively hopeful I’ll manage to pull everything together, though it will certainly different from what I thought it would become. For one thing, it has somehow become a book on stories — which is somewhat reminiscent of Pratchett: “People think that stories are shaped by people. In fact, it’s the other way around.” Only Pratchett would have probably put a steamer full of tourists with funny white hats on the Rhine and have them (the tourists, not the hats) erupt into cheerful song at an appropriate moment. Which would translate into singing the famous Lorelei-song while going past the Lorelei. I was tempted, I have to admit, but in the end I refrained from writing that. But hey, perhaps I’ll think about the alien invasion! *LOL*
Have a good night everybody!