Here’s a picture of the stack of books sitting on the corner of my desk:
Those are all books I’ve bought in the last few months, books that are still unread because I’m limiting my leisure time until the novel is finished.
At some point in the next week or two (providing I don’t get a bug up my ass and do radical surgery on the completed draft), I’ll write THE END at the bottom of the final page of The Great Big Military SF Opus (not its official title, mind you), stuff it into a manuscript box, and send it off to Great Important Acquisitions Editor (not his actual name, mind you.) Then I will rinse my brain of fiction writing for a while by starting at the top of the stack pictured above, and working my way down. I have made an agreement with myself to not start on the next piece of fiction before I’ve read every book in that stack back-to-back. (I figure that’ll mean a week or two off for Mr. Brain. Hey, I have kids to manage.)
Well, back to the grindstone, as they say. This son of a bitch isn’t going to finish itself.