(No Longer) Singing the Deadline Blues

I hit “Send” on Twelve Nights, the sequel to my Scottish Blaze Historical, Bound to Please last Saturday at 5 AM. After three plus weeks of self-sequestering, I’m back to living like a biped human being–exercising again and washing my hair again and eating meals off an actual table.

Statue of Mahatma Gandhi in Union Square, NYC. Hope could have used some of the Indian nationalist leader's renowned peace last week!
Statue of Mahatma Gandhi in Union Square, NYC. Hope could have used some of the Indian nationalist leader's renowned peace last week.

Deadlining, not to be confused with mainlining (though admittedly there are similarities), allows writers to experience the duality of our natures. Think Devil-Angel, Jeykl and Hyde, The Ripper and…Jack. In my case, I go from being this fairly fastidious person to one who’s picking sushi rice out of her computer keyboard.

Deadlining puts me in touch with my inner adrenalin junkie. Deadlining is my NASCAR. I may not parachute out of planes or go on amusement park rides that spin faster than the classic carousel, but hop me up on caffeine and give me a week to write those last 20,000 words, and I’m a regular Evel Knievel. 

Random townhouse in NYC's West Village.
Random townhouse in NYC's famed West Village.

Now that the deadline drama is past, I’m living large–and enjoying spring in New York–at least until the revisions come in.

Hope

PS Check back in a few for my mid-April contest winner.

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