December is kind of a freefall month. Everything kind of gets sucks into the Christmas vacuum and nothing else gets done. (You should see that pile of laundry waiting to get washed.)
Already in the back of my mind, the next book is lurking. I need to get going on it on January 2nd and no messing about. This thing has got to be done. And with a lot more diligence than the last couple of books. Why? Well, I'm hoping to sell that other series. If I do -- God, I'll probably go stark raving mad, because then I'll have even more deadlines.
That said, I haven't got a clue what the next book is about. Okay, I lied. I have three sentences that tell me what the next book is about. But I don't know anything other than the facts (about three) stated on those sentences. Three sentences does not an 80,000 word book make.
So even though I'm not actively writing (I'm still revising the other ms., thank you), I'm already getting nervous and fretful. What if I forgot how to write a book since October? What if I can't pull it off again? What the hell was I thinking when I put those three sentences together and my editor went for it?
Oy.
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