Hard decision time. Here are the facts:
The new meds my psychiatrist has put me on to hopefully beat back my obsessive worrying are expensive.
While I’m assured by my family that my idea of “expensive” will not be a problem at all, it is one heck of a problem for my brain which scrimps and saves obsessively every half-penny.
Here’s the quandary: Do I abandon full-time work on The Hushing Days to parse out valuable hours to short stories in genre romance that pay fifty dollars here and there? Or do I put all my eggs in my 18th novel’s basket?
My dumb, stupid, foolish head has beaten itself up over this the last days. It’s been ugly and exhausting and I really, really hate this OCD-thing I’ve got going on up there.
Hard decision was finally made yesterday.
If the publishing world has seen fit to put to print 17 of my novels, I’m going to trust that they will see fit to put to print one more.
I will not turn back from this decision.
I will not.