I sent off my final, revised manuscript of THE MEPHISTO CLUB yesterday. A few clicks on the keyboard, and off it went through the ether to my editor at Ballantine. (I do love the computer age!)
But now I have a problem. I’m in between books, and I don’t know what to do with myself.
For the past year, I’ve labored over MEPHISTO CLUB. I’ve whined about it, agonized over it, had nightmares about it. Now that I’m finally free of it, am I ecstatic? No. I’m drifting around the house like a lost child. I did the laundry. I went grocery shopping. I answered my neglected email. But somewhere, in the back of my mind, is this uneasy feeling that I’m playing hooky. That I’m not doing my job.
This is the writer’s curse. We never feel we’re really “off” the job.
Now I head off to attend to yet another part of the job – publicity. I leave for Amsterdam tomorrow, on my Dutch book tour. And then it’s on to New York City and the Edgar awards. So no blogging for a week.