Somebody Smack Me

Okay, so yes, I’m a world-class worrier. But I only worry about important stuff, like whether or not  the voices in my head who become novels might suddenly stop talking to me or that no one will buy my book when it launches in February or that they will buy it, but think it’s truly stupid or that I’m going to have heart attack while I’m driving…see? Only really important stuff.

The book fears are more real right now because I signed my contract with the publisher on Tuesday. So, now it’s really gonna happen–I’m going to be published. So now, I get to perseverate over copyedits, launch, promotion, sales…a whole new world that I’ve always believed I wanted to be a part of, but now that it’s here, I’m wondering if I’m smart enough to do it. I opened a Twitter account last month, I’m on Facebook, I blog here and on the Bettyverse and on Chick Lit Writers. Is that enough exposure to sell a novel?

And the other fear–can I keep this up? How many novels are in me? Right now the answer is 3.75, but what if I finish number four and can’t think of another thing to write? What I need is my friend, CL, who loves more than anything to smack me when I’m being a dope. I can already hear her,

Nan! Don’t make me come over there and smack you! You have an entire file full of ideas–you’ll continue writing. The people have been in your head since you were old enough to hold a pencil–you’ll write. Writing is breathing. It’s how you survive. And people will buy the books. You have an agent, a critique partner, and beta readers who’ve told you they’re good. Stop saying, “Well they’re just romance novels. Not great literature.” They are an accomplishment. Be proud. Enjoy! And keep writing.

So the health thing–another worry. Since the whole ER thing, I find that I’m treating myself as though I’m fragile. Now this probably has something to do with the heart monitor attached to my body, but the doc said to go about my normal life and I’m not doing that. Instead, I’m walking softly, eating less, stopping at every little twinge, checking my freakin’ blood pressure, and just generally acting like an idiot.

So, before CL gets a chance to read this, I’m going to vow to stop being a dope. The BP cuff goes back in its little case, I’m deleting the Mayo Clinic from my bookmarks, and hopping on the treadmill this morning for a quick two miles. Today, I’m getting back behind the wheel and going to go meet my sister. She needs my help right now and Mom always said the best way to get outside yourself was to help someone else.

I’m done, I’m over it…time to move on, literally and metaphorically. That doesn’t mean I won’t need a smack, virtual or otherwise, now and again. But just for today, no more worries…