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It's been a couple of years now that I've been a contracted, published novelist, and I've been writing pretty steadily on works that some editor or other wants for that whole period. At the moment, I've got two novel manuscripts due by the end of July---at the same time I have two other books being released, one in June and one in July, the beginnings of the Pittsburgh Lady Lawyer series, and I've got a massive blog tour/publicity campaign going on to promote them.

This is all in addition to the day job, and family and, well, life.

Sometimes it feels like I spend every breath thinking about writing. Which is, of course, what I always thought would be AWESOME back in the day. But every once in awhile, I  can't help feeling a little burnt out about it.

Moderation in all things...I don't know who said it originally, but my father used to quote it a lot. Yesterday, I found that it worked.

In addition to writing my 1,600 words, talking to a reporter from an Indiana paper, mailing out books for a signing I've got scheduled next month in Montana, writing two posts for the blog tour, and spending the evening with my writing critique group, I also sewed together a coverlet I'd had laying on the table staring at me for three weeks, and painted some decorative pieces for our newly-revamped bedroom.

Funny how those other creative tasks really seemed to recharge my mind for more words. If I wasn't worried how it might look, I might almost admit my parent was....right.


Does that mean I'm finally growing up?

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