War has broken out between the cats that like to frequent my backyard at 3am and me. I'm sure my neighbors already thinking I'm a raving lunatic for running out into the yard in the middle of the night in my underwear, yelling at the stupid cats. But now shit's about to get real.
I ordered a motion activated sprinkler. Those cats won't know what hit them.
And I'm doing all of this because I'm waiting. I hate waiting. I hate waiting in a way that drives me mad. I should probably drink. Instead, I check my email twenty times per hour, waiting for something to come through. And, at the end of the day, when no emails have arrived, I find myself exhausted. I almost look forward to the weekend because it means I can relax. If no email has come by Friday evening, then none will come over the weekend.
For a writer, waiting is a necessity. You wait for replies, you wait for people to read, you wait for edits, you wait for reviews. People tell you to write something else, but that's just a bunch of BS to get you to quit complaining. Anyway, if you're a writer, you're writing something else anyway. Hell, you probably have 10 something else's written. That's just who you are.
I've been throwing myself into my day job, into my side job, into a short story and a new book and revisions for two books I don't know what I want to do with.
And still...it's not enough to keep my from hating the waiting.
So I've declared war on those cats.
I love the smell of catnip in the morning. Smells like victory.