So...

Nov. 17th, 2014 08:30 am
beth_bernobich: red mushroom (sparkle kitties)
...a couple weeks ago, I was utterly miserable. Bronchitis had sucked away all my energy and brain power. The dayjob was a cesspit of chaos. And whenever I got the least traction with any of my writing projects, new obstacles and obligations popped up in my way.

So this past week, I sat down and wrote a business proposal. Goal: to a submission-ready draft of Current Novel ready by May 2015, and a revised version of my pirate novel by end of summer. I worked out a tentative schedule for accomplishing that, together with how much extra time that would require, and how much that time would cost in terms of lost income from the dayjob.

I gave the proposal to my husband, who said, Go for it.*

I talked to my manager, who said, Go for it.**

And I will. I'm taking off the first two weeks of January. After that, I switch to part-time status through the end of June, working three days a week. Doing that doubles the time I have for writing. It also gives me a cushion so I can 1) avoid burnout, and 2) spend more time with my family.

Between now and January, I've set a few small writing goals. Finish chapter 11. Write chapter 12. Work out the general plot points for the rest of the book.

Wish me luck!

----------------
* My husband is awesome. Have I mentioned that recently?
** Though he did looked a bit stressed when I told him.
beth_bernobich: red mushroom (book love)
A while back, my editor sent me a print of the cover art for PASSION PLAY. (*loves*) Today, my husband brought home the print framed, with a very elegant double mat that perfectly complements the colors in the print.
beth_bernobich: red mushroom (Black Cat)
Yesterday was being one of those horrible, annoying days. Days when you have to deal with a million tiny distracting tasks, along with the dayjob, and on top of that your computer blue screens five times in a row.

Yeah, one of those.

Right about the time I fixed the computer, my husband called. "How about I bring home Indian food from your favorite takeaway?"

Insert growling, grumbling noises that he correctly interprets as a "Yes."

"Okay, I'll be home in an hour and a half."

But when he comes home, not only does he have the Indian food, but he carries a thin, rectangular object wrapped in brown paper. "Open it," he says. "It's for you."

It was a print of my Ars Memoriae cover, signed by the artist, and beautifully matted and framed.

Ain't he wonderful?

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