After nearly a week of revising Knights in Dark Leather, co-written
with Edith Parzefall, I've emerged into reality.
My husband and I are hardly speaking. Firstly, because I would absent
myself and listen to the little man who reads
out loud to me on the converted pdf file, and who can't pronounce pointed
and says island for is and number for no.
Try to make sense of this sentence. "Number. I don't know what that
island." Secondly, my husband doesn't like the way our publisher treats
us. No use telling him the book might languish away until I die and no one
would have even read the story if it hadn't been taken up. He wants the best
deal for me, and doesn't believe we have achieved that. freeimages.com
Now, I need to catch up with the people whose blogs I'm following and
work on my critiques for fellow members of The Internet Writing Workshop. Then
there are the tasks of keeping up with the critiques for the novel I'm
submitting to the critique group and continuing to write my current novel. But
something even more demanding beckons. I should now go through my novel Still
Rock Water, taken up by another publisher, in exactly the same way.
And face the same problems: the little man, the despairing husband and
the tussles.
Why is life so demanding and challenging? How do you create balance in
your life?
