Sorry, I’m just empty.
I’ve completed another round of editing of my !@#$%^! crime novel and I’m waiting for the feedback from my suffering but nevertheless loyal beta readers before the manuscript goes back to the editor. I feel like I’ve been seriously ill for a long, long time and now I’m on the mend. Maybe not that hopeful. Maybe more like knowing the worst is behind me, even if I’m not quite over it.
I’m feeling exhausted and empty and all I want to do is… nothing. Because I know there’ll be a relapse — more editing to come. And then the querying, or maybe self-publishing, the promo, and of course working on the sequel.
Today I don’t care.
So here’s a photo of months-old roses that somehow still retain their fragrance. I can’t bear to throw them out. Just like I can’t bear to give up on this blasted book.