Embracing my inner flake

I am usually an organized and reliable person. (Honest.) I never miss a deadline. I turn up five to ten minutes early for meetings. I even floss. All of which makes my recent flakiness completely out of character.

First, I told Min I wouldn’t be working on non-fiction projects next year. Tight non-fiction deadlines tend to create a wee bit o’ chaos around our household, in the form of unwashed laundry, haphazard dinners, and a garden-turned-jungle. There’s a limited amount of writing time in my life. When the balance tips, it’s not pretty. Plus, I have several fiction manuscripts in need of revision. So, as I explained to Min, I would be working on fiction for the next year. Once both kids were in school full time, I would consider working on both fiction and non-fiction once again.

Then, my publisher called. With a really great idea. It would be SO much fun to write! And I could incorporate many of my interests into one (non-fiction) project. Yes! I would love to work on a proposal. And a brainstorming meeting? Why not Tuesday?

About six hours later, I began to panic. Min made non-commital sounds while I muttered about arranging for a far-off deadline, and working more evenings, and the distinct possibility that our children would be just as happy at boarding school.

And, finally, I wrote to my publisher and backed out of both project and brainstorming meeting, which I’m sure was slightly surprising, as I was completely enthusiastic 24 hours before.

Flake of the Week. I have now been crowned.

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