Currently, I'm still saddled to the keyboard, hunched over a myriad of deadlines. I've started these writing forays at 3 a.m. on several days in the past week and have even taken to giving my wife a full report every night. One of my biggest projects, a planned 90,000 word title that I will be completing by November 1, is already nearing the half-way mark. Last Monday night I informed my wife that I had reached the 40,000 word mark, and this weekend I wrote another seven-thousand words and plan to stretch to 60,000 words before month's end. Her response: "You are crazy."
I like spring break. I no longer have to worry about orchestrating a road trip with children crying in the backseat. I no longer have to say, "Don't make me stop this car!" or "If I have to get out of this beach lounger!" or "Don't make me come over there and eat your snow cone!"
Now, when spring break rolls around, I only have to worry about the triad:
1. Me
2. The keyboard
3. And scheduling one romantic outing with my wife (this year, White Castle ought to do it)
Now that spring breaks are two weeks in duration instead of one, I really don't know how many words I can produce, how many deadlines I can meet. While the world is vacationing in exotic locations like Bora Bora or Cancun or Akron, Ohio, I'll be burning the break in Brownsburg, ever moving my word-count upward, writing book reviews, talking to editors.
Things could be worse. My wife could expect two nights or romance. But I'm running out of ideas.
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