I have just under a month before I start working, and I just realized that this is basically the way I’ve treated the entire last month or so of school, if not all of April and May combined. Aside from waking up and going to class, turning in papers and assignments, taking notes, cramming lunch breaks into ten-minute binges of pizza and juice, scheduling naps whenever and wherever there’s a free hour/fifteen minutes, and using Hulu as a way to keep myself from doing anything at all until after 11 PM — you know, all that college stuff — I’ve pretty much done exactly what I would be doing in Austin right now at home. Nothing. I have a month off, and my only accomplishment for the five or so days I’ve been home is I’ve killed a mountain of roaches, and I’ve moved a bottle of Goldbond lotion to my nightstand so I can slather all of the mosquito bites I got … yesterday, while watching old Scrubs and Doctor Who episodes on my DVR.

If this is the good life, I sort of want my old busy life back. With deadlines and responsibilities. I did say “sort of.” Everyone needs a break. I just find huge gaps of free time just a little more suffocating than actually sitting down and getting something done.

There is one encroaching deadline: Remember how I said I would get my novel done by June 30th? It was a pipe dream to begin with. My new goal is less impressive. I have to finish the first book (another 2,000 words or so) in the next few days so I can print everything I have so far, edit it extensively with a red pen (this is the fun part), and submit it by June 2nd for my free proof copy. I did my math wrong, it turns out.

I’m a little bummed for two reasons. First, I wish I had more of my book done. If I just worked at it a little harder, I think I might have at least been able to make some headway. But I know that I don’t have that sort of discipline unless I’m actually setting goals for myself. “Finish the book” is vague and unhelpful. “Write 2,000 words,” on the other hand, is something I can deal with.

Secondly, little did I know that “free proof copy,” doesn’t mean that you’ll get a manuscript copy of your book. You get an actual book. This is driving my life-long perfectionist streak up the wall, because I just know something’s going to go badly. Maybe it won’t matter because I’ll be holding the first part of my book in my hands. But there’s always the chance that I’ll open to one of the biggest scenes in the first part, and go, “Oh god, that was supposed to be an apostrophe.” And my world will just crumble around my feet.

Thank goodness no one but me has to read this yet. I just might die of shame.

Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s hard writing a novel, and even though all I do is whine about it and not actually write as much as I’m supposed to, I love it. I love that I have this internal organization perfected so that I know exactly what’s supposed to happen next, which was always what scared me most. Characters are easy for me. So are descriptions. Structure, however, is difficult. I want to expound on every single thought that every character has, but I can’t do that unless I want to spend the next ten years writing my 2,000 chapter novel.

But I think the hardest part is writing something and not even knowing if anyone will ever want to read it. I entered a writing contest recently, and as I suspected, I didn’t win. But what surprised me was that everyone had submitted essentially the same types of stories and poems. I knew that by submitting fantasy, I had already lost that battle. But it made me wonder if there’s someone out there who is just dying to read the finished novel as much as I am. I desperately want there to be, but I think I can be happy if it’s just me for now — in my own little world.