I have had a wonderful spring, and I do mean wonderful. In April, When a Duchess Says I Do launched quite nicely. I wasn’t sure how Duncan’s understated charm or Matilda’s damsel-in-check would go over with the readers, but no worries! In May, I published A Lady of True Distinction, another duke-free HEA that the readers seem to be enjoying. This month, Theresa Romain and I teamed up for the novella duet, How to Ruin a Duke, and it’s off to a great start.
But wait, there’s more! I was privileged to attend the 2019 Festival du Roman Feminim in Paris at the end of May. I added a couple days onto the front of that trip for jet lag, a couple onto the back because PARIS, and had a great time.
On June 8, about a week after I got home, I joined the Virginia Romance Writers in Richmond to give the keynote speech at their annual award luncheon–what fun!–and then it was on to the Historical Novelists Society of North American for their annual… oops.
Wait a minute. I got it into my head that the HNS meeting was the weekend of June 15-16, but it was actually the weekend of June 22-23. When on Thursday of the wrong, earlier week, I woke up and realized I did not have to tool down the interstate to play in DC’s beltway traffic, did not have to rush off to impersonate an extrovert again, did not EVEN have to put on my comfy-but-professional conference get ups… I about cried.
I was SO relieved to have a weekend at home with my cats. I slept in, I wrote stuff, I wore my play clothes, I might even have done some housework, (but let’s not get carried away). I thought I was having a good time, hitting my wickets, balancing travel and home, work and leisure, but I was way off.
I have known for maybe ten years that I’m not as physically resilient as I once was, but with less difference between my peak performance and my valley performance, it’s easier to convince myself, “I’m fine” when in fact, I’m bushed. I’m knackered and I need solitude, rest, and unstructured time to get back on track.
I think some of the reason I overshot my capacity is because I am not working a day job anymore. I still put in long hours, but I’m at home, and that doesn’t “feel” as much like exertion–but it is, especially mentally. Another factor is that I’m no longer plagued by a menstrual cycle (thanks be to the Almighty Powers for that). When I was younger, I had to keep an eye on the calendar and plan, however subconsciously, for bodily realities. Now, I tend to hydroplane when it comes to monitoring my mood and energy.
So I’m looking around for different trail signs than the ones I used to rely on to tell me when I’m approaching my activity limits. One is that the house gets unkempt. I’m no kinda housekeeper, but when my schedule is relaxed and I have enough energy, I do tidy up the nest. Another is my joie de plume. If I’m eager to open up the Work in Progress, I’m probably in a good place.
If I’m mixing up my dates, going for weeks without downtime, that’s probably not such a good idea. How do you tell when you’re approaching overload? To one commenter, I’ll send a print ARC of Forever and a Duke!