Dear brain:

I appreciate that you’re proud of finished the novel. Really, I am. However, the point in finishing this first draft of novel before the beginning of March was so that it wouldn’t eat up valuable energy that needed to be directed into the anthology and other things. For example, there is a three-hour hearthcraft workshop that you will be delivering to (at last count) SEVENTEEN PEOPLE this Saturday. (I pause here in order to give you the appropriate time in which to freak out, o brain.) The hour-long brief lecture you did at the Hamilton Pagan Pride day isn’t going to work for this. You need to really, really plan out a better-organised and more detailed outline. A craft, maybe? Guided meditations? Break into small discussion groups? Something. Because, really, brain: Three hours. Think of something good.

Also, I am very proud of you for doing as much work as you’ve done today on the anthology. You’re completely up to date. All info you’ve received so far has been slotted into the correct fields in the correct files, submissions have been reviewed, and everyone who has handed in their story has had a contract sent to them. You’ve done everything you can do so far. That’s great. But that doesn’t mean you get the rest of the day off. It’s been a good morning of work, but a good morning and being totally on top of things in one project doesn’t entitle you to an afternoon off the other pending things. (See above re. workshop.)

You can edit the novel when the anthology has been handed at the end of the month. Four weeks. You have to ignore it for one month. Make longhand notes if you can’t wait. But no opening the file.

You may try to cast on that damed fingering weight yarn for the wrist warmers yet again if you need a break. (Yes, I thought that would send you skittering for the workshop files in tears.)