After such a concerted effort to get the book done, I now can't seem to get anything done. Not even laundry, much less think about packing for Paris. Sigh.

And of course the new book is a piece of crap, I can't write, I should never try to write again, it needs to be completely rewritten. Such is the anxiety around this, my fifth book to actually be completed (though several other books were started as my 'fifth book' - just never quite made it to completion).

It almost makes me want to propel into the next book, so I don't have to deal with this one.

And part of the trouble is, when reading my old favorites, the folks I so want to emulate, I realize how far I am from that height, so to speak.

So I'm wallowing in the depths. Thank goodness I'm seeing Jenn tomorrow.