You know, I was really hoping to have the book edited before the boat trip. That was my plan. My goal. Instead, I've only slogged my way through half of the manuscript. Half! Ug!
This puts me a week behind schedule. Now, really, this isn't a big deal. I'm not hurting anyone by letting these self-imposed deadlines pass. I'm not breaking anyone's heart or squeezing their soul with my inability to keep on task. I mean, really, my beta readers aren't anxiously watching their inboxes for this little darling. At least, I don't think they are. I hope not!
Still, what if something important was at stake? What if I really had to get the edits done in a week and the type-ins entered by a set date in order to please an editor? What if my inability to meet a simple deadline meant the difference between my future happiness or deep regret?
My only consolation here is that I do work under deadlines at work and at school. I have projects and tasks I must complete in a timely fashion. Amazingly, despite everything, when push comes to shove, I manage to make every single deadline. So there's hope that if the writing ever goes professional, I'll be able to apply the same drive and determination to my manuscripts. Because when the prize is worth the effort, the deadlines suddenly mean a whole lot more.