I have a month left to go on AFTER THE STORM. In my waking hours, I feel marvelously in control (except for a few little glitches in the last couple of chapters). I’m on target (well, almost). I know my characters inside out (this is true). The novel is taking those twists I never imagined, enriching the story and making me say “aha!” several times a day.
But, as is always true around this time in the process, my dreams, as my character Maggie would say, “totally suck.” It’s the usual stuff: I’m hopelessly lost in a strange city. I’m back in high school, taking an exam for which I haven’t studied. I’m about to walk on stage in a play and I don’t know my lines. I’m rushing to get to a class, but one obstacle after another appears in my path. I’m in terrible danger, but each time I try to dial 911, my finger slips on the last digit.
I don’t even want to go to sleep.
Clearly, after writing eighteen novels, I still am not the confident lass I pretend to be. How about the rest of you? Readers of my blog are from many different professions and walks of life. Do you still have performance nightmares?