maybe it's the knowledge sinking in that I'm about to be fettered for another eight months
or maybe it's residual depression from the low feeling of a hangover
I don't know.
What I do know is that there's an urge inside me, struggling to express itself. Right now it seems to be saying buy more books, which is probably not a bad idea or a good one, if my husband has anything to say about it. It's the same voice that's currently discontent with my house, my things, my yard.
Actually, I think I know this voice. It's the same voice that used to talk to me right before school started every fall--whispers about things unknown, sights still unseen, experiences looming on the horizon that may be good or may be terrible but will definitely change me even if I don't realize it until eight years later.
Only this time I'm on the downhill slope to 30, and I'm happy with my life, even though I'm tired of being in school. Irritated at my past self for not making the right decisions about a career when I was still young and not so damn tired.
I think it's the hangover. Or the rain.
My novel is pretty much scrubbed shiny. It's in the hands of final beta readers right now, and I'm doing a final read-through, picking over punctuation and tiny words just because.
Matt MacNish critiqued my query on his blog last week. That was good, and helpful. I haven't touched it since then, due to the afore-mentioned nitpicking of my MS.
My list of agents to query is getting in good shape.
I wanted to start querying as I started back to school, so I won't have time or brain space to be obsessive and think about it all that much.
Still need to write a synopsis. Haven't even started that yet.
And I have 300 pages of material to read before classes start on August 22. I've read about 50 so far.
That's my cat Monty watching Planet Earth with us. He was engrossed the entire episode.
So, them's thangs.
How's it going?