I know this much is true.

I? I had a really bad panic attack on Friday.

Because when I came home on Friday night, I had an email that said I had to give the final copy of my manuscript to the publisher by December 5th in order to have it out in time for the Book Expo in May.

And I? Freaked right the hell out.

Why? I don't know.

Because really? It's pretty much finished. It had a beginning and an end and it all flows logically. Yes, there were some errors (not surprisingly, I used "too" when I should have used "to" and vice versa) and a couple of spots I had to clarify because they seemed contradictory. Oh and there was one small copyright issue that I had to clear up. But those things are all pretty minor, in the grand scheme of things. Overall, it's pretty much done.

But I absolutely panicked.


So this weekend? I did everything but look at the book. I cleaned the house. I did a mountain of laundry, all folded and put away. I baked twelve tons of things; cookies and biscuits and bread. I wrote menus for this week. Made lists of what I still need for Christmas (pretty much postage stamps and candy for stockings). I thought about things, like the second World War. Seriously.

I did everything but work on my book.

I opened it, twice. Both times at around 2am. Both times I closed it almost immediately.

And yesterday? I said to Big Jim, "Why am I doing this?"

He said the same things he always says, "You don't believe you deserve good things". "The good things are in the same place for you as the scary things". "You're still trying to protect other people's image of you".

I know all this.


I had a turning point in my life, earlier this year, when I went to Ohio and met my friends. I knew that changed my life, in that moment. I knew it would be okay. That *I* could be okay. That I could meet people and they would love me the same way they loved me before they met me face-to-face. It changed everything.


This is another turning point, I know.


I just have to figure out how to not be afraid.