This is the fourth novel-length book I’ve published; you’d think I was used to the checklist by now. This is the part where everything is awful and nothing works right and what the Hell, Moe? I’m not sure if it’s a buildup of put-it-aside-for-now emotions from the process, the desire to get it over with, or just the inevitable reaction to the detail that I’ve spent more time the last month working on books instead of advertising them. It typically goes away when I finally publish the blessed thing.
Anyway, talking about it is therapeutic. If only because I stop feeling down, and start feeling annoyed. I don’t have time for this.