Indie publishing is turning out to be a rough track to run.
There's an awful lot to try and keep up with as we prepare for the book releases and I'd been keeping up with all of it pretty well...but then disaster struck: I got sick. This was right after the very sick cat and the marathon week of finishing the first draft of The Devil Stood Up. With everything tapping me, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that I was, well, tapped out.
I should have known something was up when I had a small breakdown last Sunday night. The Husband was suggesting some additional things I might want to look into doing, and ... I ... melted ... down. I'm talking 'cotton candy covered, achy tummy, grimy face, overly tired four year old at the end of the fair' meltdown. It was ugly, my friends. It's actually been many years since it seemed pitching a fit was the most reasonable answer to adversity (the last time was the Moorestown Mall when I was about twenty-five...a crying jag in Boscov's two days before Christmas...picture it...).
But things are looking up now that I have a system full of antibiotics, help with the website, and a new book I'm excited to start.
As usual, time has saved me, and I am going to start drinking all my juice and taking my B vitamins. Hang in there, body. I'll try and do better by you from here on out.