Deadline. One word that can strike fear and terror into the most organised and conscientious of writers. A word that sends shivers up and down the spines of procrastinators all over the land.
It can be my enemy or my friend. It can wrap me up and make me feel all safe and warm and then it can slyly remind me yet again of the mission I chose to accept all those months ago. The mission I may have slightly forgotten about while getting the kids back to school and spending my days immersed in the Edinburgh International Book Festival. But these are all excuses and I should know better.
I was feeling all good about my writing and thinking I had ages to get my next submission ready, when August disappeared like the packet of jelly babies I forgot I had left open within view. September rudely crept up on me, bringing with it the cold and the darker nights along with a horrible feeling I had forgotten to do something.
How many sleeps do I have left (just 20)? When do I need to start panicking? Not today, I tell myself but maybe next week. Perhaps I should venture out and buy the envelopes I know I am going to need and I might even check that my printer ink isn’t going to run out when I hit that button of destiny.
There’s nothing else for it. The sleeves are rolled up and the kettle is going on. Let’s Do This!