Today has been busy. I dropped the boy off at daycare, drove through traffic to the West Island, got my hair trimmed, picked up groceries (managing to forget liquid laundry detergent, fabric softener, and iced tea yet again), drove home, checked news and such, sent out queries regarding final details for both projects, ate lunch, and finished/fixed/polished/proofread everything.
It’s one-thirty, and I have just uploaded/submitted all of my work to the various editors and co-ordinators. Yes, all of it. I appear to be done. Pending any further tweaks requested by the clients, that is.
So now that my work time is my own again, naturally my brain is rebelling at actually working on my own writing, which it has been thinking about longingly all week while I’ve been working on things for other people. It has specifically been tugging at me to work on the newest YA novel I outlined last month. Oh, wait; there’s that essay for the anthology I should finish up for Monday. And there’s the workshop outline I need to plan out as well as a bio to submit for the Hamilton festival this fall, also due Monday. Maybe I’ll work on those this afternoon.