Just under three weeks ago, I got all fired up about starting book two. I had an outline. I had a plan. I had alpha readers lined up. I was all set! Until I crashed, about two days in. Ah, the joys of living with an unpredictable, chronic condition.
My lovely plan was so much scrap paper, and “catching up” was going to be an exercise in futility. So, I’m going to start again.
I’ll take the few thousand words that I’ve managed to write so far, and re-draw the plan so that it goes from Monday, 19th July to Sunday, 5th September. Still seven weeks, still done by (the end of) September, and still tracked on Pace Maker. Just shifted back a couple of weeks.
Incidentally, I’ve never understood why pushing a task or an event further into the future is called moving it back, while pulling it closer to the present is called moving it forward. Surely those should be the other way around?