I know I’ve said this before, but I’m not all that good with time.
Yes, I’m ridiculously punctual. Yes, I can execute a recipe or follow a schedule, and on a purely intellectual level, I understand that time is always passing and this particular moment—right now—is not the same moment it was even a heartbeat ago. I get that.
But I don’t really understand that it’s true.
Here is an example. I have a wedding ring, and I always wear it, except when I’m cooking or doing the dishes. In this picture, I’m not wearing it. That’s because when the box of ARCs for The Space Between showed up on my steps, I was doing the dishes, but I wanted to know what was in the box right away without waiting, so I opened it, and I was really excited and I took a picture.
And now, every time I see the picture, I irrationally panic and think I’ve lost my ring somewhere, even though I’m currently wearing it, because something in my brain can’t tell the difference between now-this-minute, and a photograph that happened six months ago. I do this every single time.
Basically, what I’m saying is, my brain is sort of like the Overlook Hotel—all times are now.
Which is why I find it so incredibly fascinating, so impossible, that my first draft of Paper Valentine is due to my editor in two days, when I’m pretty sure this deal was announced an hour ago.
Also, I should probably finish writing it.