At deadlines. Of course, they’re self-imposed, so I guess I could be flexible, right?
Quick story: once upon a time, I used to be very anal about cleaning my house. I did certain chores on certain days and if I ran out of time or skipped it for any reason, I’d get all discombobulated. Someone asked me, “What’s the big deal?” Well, the big deal was that I liked having a schedule and getting things accomplished—the problem, however, was my state of mind if it wasn’t done. So I changed. If I didn’t, say, dust the house on Tuesday, or on Wednesday playing catch-up, I’d give myself a pass.
It was a struggle.
Now, I know you’re waiting for this next book—quite frankly, I’m touched and honored and a host of other positive things—but as I said a while back, it’s a little different than the first three. So I’m struggling with that.
All I can do is apologize, again, for being late.
I know how it is—especially with a series. I’m a reader, too, after all.
Would you feel better if I said my publisher had delayed the release? Oh, wait . . .
Or I could give a list of excuses like I do when I have a doctor’s visit and he asks why my blood pressure is still up or why I refused to get on the scale . . .
OR—I could just set this post to go live and get the heck offline here and get crackin’.
Robin Writes 