Here we go again . . .

Well, here we go again, if 'go' means 'going on hiatus.'

It's been a long time since I've written anything, largely due to lots and lots of other writing that I was (or will be) getting paid for. I wrote, by my count, one hundred thirty three pages during the spring semester, on top of my day job. That enabled me to finish a large and time-consuming project that I was proud to be part of, but glad to be finished with.

Now I find myself once devoted to my textbook. A first draft is due next April, a draft that my publisher says should be around 250,000 words. That is, for those of you who can't envision exactly what that adds up to, about three trashy mystery novels in length.

Here's some good news: I am making progress. Every few weeks, I crank through another chapter or so. My  manuscript, which I am about to use for a summer school course, is bigger than it was when I used it last fall. It is now 415 double-spaced pages. That seems like a lot, and it makes a decent-looking pile on my credenza, where I keep it as a reminder of how much I have done.

Here's some bad news: even though it is an impressive-looking pile of 415 pages, it still only adds up to 130,000 words. That is a bit more than a mystery novel and a half. I have a long way to go.

Here's some good news: I have a plan about where I will spend those remaining 120,000 words. Well, most of them, anyway.

Here's some bad news: Even with a plan, there is a boatload of writing and typing left to do. Cramming that in alongside my day job during the next year is going to be tremendously difficult.

Here's the surreal news: In a year, my first draft will be in. Within two years, the revisions will be done and the book will be on store shelves. This means that my work will be done. This project has occupied so very, very many hours of my days, evenings, and weekends for the past three years. And for every hour of work, I have probably spent ten hours thinking. It has been an all consuming enterprise. And so, in two years, it will be done.

It is just within the past couple of days that this reality has hit home. With that reality has come a very real question and a really big fear: Once this thing is done, what the hell am I supposed to do with myself?

One last bit of good news: the book is decent. I've written schlock before, and know it when I see it. This will not be schlock. I am proud of what I have done. And, out of courtesy to you and respect for my own dignity, I promise not to spend much time tooting my own horn from now on. But thank you for indulging me tonight.