October 15 is rapidly approaching and I'm freaking out. That's when I'm supposed to send my manuscript to an author I met during Gen Con Indy. She's published something like 13 books, some of them young adult, and she said she'd be happy to look over my manuscript and give me suggestions of who to talk to at World Fantasy Con. It's not that I don't like the book, and some of the people who read it liked it, but this is an opinion of a real author. I've nearly convinced myself that she'd going to read the first few pages, snort in derision, and tell me I'm a hack that doesn't belong anywhere near world fantasy con until I've written for at least another ten years. She'll tell me I'm talentless and who did I think I was, anyway?
I'm entering a serious depressive funk. I know this because chocolate doesn't even sound good to me.
My third book needs about another twenty thousand words or so. I have a few ideas for what's missing ... it's just a matter of getting my butt in the chair and writing it. This weekend is looking like one of those weekends I shackle myself to my computer.