I’m in a strange place right now…
I finished my last Diagnosis Murder novel and delivered it to my editor a few weeks ago. Bill Rabkin and I just turned in a pitch to a network for a TV movie we’re up to write. It’s still a few weeks away from staffing season, so there’s no episodic TV work right now. And I delivered my story to my editor for the next (the seventh!) Diagnosis Murder novel…so I’m awaiting formal go-ahead before I start the detailed plotting and actual writing.
So, in other words, I don’t have a hell of a lot to do. I’m in a holding pattern until I hear from the network on the M.O.W., or my editor on the book, or staffing season begins and we start going to meetings.
As is typical at times like this, I’m antsy. I cleaned up my office, did some filing, paid my bills, organized my bookshelves, put labels on my home-recorded DVDs. I got my cars serviced, I scheduled repairs around the house, and I even fixed myself up… going in for long overdue appointments with my doctor and my dentist for annual checkups (which I haven’t had in years, so I guess I’m using the term "annual" very loosely).
I feel good about taking care of things that I’ve overlooked for the last two years of non-stop writing activity but, at the same time, I’m not quite myself. I’m eager to start writing something else…even though I’ve been looking forward for so long to time off, especially with the 12 months I’ve had (two broken arms, two surgeries, 18 episodes to write/develop, one death in the family, three novels to write, etc.).
We’re heading out on a family road trip for my daughter’s March vacation, driving to the Grand Canyon and Sante Fe, and that will be fun, but until then…
…why can’t I just curl up in a chair with a good book, relax, and enjoy the peace? God knows I have plenty of books to read!