Yeah, that's about the level my brain is functioning at today.
I held off the post-novel crash as long as I could, mainly because handing my parents a to-do list as they drove off the ferry and telling them I was going to go take a nap for the weekend was not actually a workable option. But the fuzzy brain won at about 8:30 last night.
Possibly it won before, like when I discovered that in my writing and rewriting process, Linger had somehow acquired three chapter nines. At least they were all different.
Theoretically, I'm awake right now.
I'm slightly more than halfway through the process of typing the rewrite of Linger into the computer. I've been keeping a loose total of word count cut from the last draft, and if things continue as they have been, I will have cut and redone about 35K words of an 80K manuscript. So, you know, a lot. Barring my shoulder completely quitting on me, I'll be finished in the next couple of days, and the manuscript will be out to those who are waiting for it by the end of the week.
Which means it's time to be thinking about the next book.
I'm putting on my big girl pants, and writing The Language of the Angels.
It was originally one of my Clarion application stories. For the past two years, I've pulled it out, and scribbled away at it, and then put it back in the box. Not because the story wasn't there, because I wasn't good enough to write it yet. I don't know if I am right now, but I know I'm not giving myself the excuse not to work on it anymore.
And yes, I'm a little scared to work on this now - it's a big story: the War in Heaven, and discontent in Hell. The nature of love and of sacrifice. What does it mean to have faith, to be chosen?
Maybe the novel winds up crashing and burning, and taking me with it, but I'd rather fail while trying than fail because I never wrote it.