Hey, man, it happens. Though, to be honest, never to me. Never before. I’m one of those nutters who has everything done in advance, who cushions arrival times by thirty minutes. The same has always been true of my manuscripts. I usually deliver a few months early. But not this time. Here I am. Staring down a due date that I will never make.

I. Am. So. Screwed.

Well, not yet. I’ve got two and a half months to get a book done. That’s faster than I’ve ever written one. I wrote a third of it this summer, but as tends to happen, all of those words are junk now. On Feb. 1st I start from scratch.

Whatever happens, I’m sure to rewrite/revise the draft more than once after that. This post is mostly just to say, if in two months I seem certifiable, this book is why. It’s weird, to be staring at the next months on the calendar, and know how much and approximately when I will be bitching and moaning. I feel like a psychic.

The good news is, I’m still excited to write it. Bring it on, Three Dark Crowns 2. I will love you, and hate you, and then think you are only, ok. I will dance with you, and throttle you, and bury you in my backyard after a midnight bender. And when you are through, I will be wearing a ratty bathrobe and walking around with an empty coffee cup, my hair grown out into the same haircut as Daryl Dixon.