The thought of people reading the book, in my current state of mind, fills me with a mix of nausea and despair. I think the novel is good, so I'm not sure why I feel that way. Perhaps because I've been having trouble sleeping. That always puts me in a terrible mood. Or perhaps it's because I fear no one will review the book. Or that everyone who does will hate it. Or or or.
It's really too late to be angsting over it now! And a waste of energy, to boot.
I worked on the Steampunk Western proposal over the weekend. Mostly, I gutted the synopsis, removing the threesome subplot in order to, hopefully, make the book more salable in more places. I added in a new conflict for the heroine, but still need to invent new organs to replace the ones I removed so the system (novel) will operate. That's probably contributing to my bad mood, too.
On the bright side, I get to sing Mozart tonight and tomorrow night.
