I'll Send an SOS to the World...

Is it just me, or does this picture look suspiciously like a phallic symbol?

It's amazing how starting a new book sets off the doubting Thomasinas in my mind. How do I do this? What makes me think I can do this? How can this book possibly be as good as the last? Will I ever get to 80,000 words? What the hell was I thinking????

For the most part, I'm an upbeat, confident, optimistic person. But every now and then, I feel like I did in high school... Does anybody like me? Am I popular? Will I succeed in life? Am I like a totally lame dweeb, dude? Will I have a date for Friday night? Where the hell did I leave my stash?

Part of my self-doubt has to do with the carnival query ride I'm on. I've had 6 partial requests, 3 full requests, and 14 passes on MURDER ON TWILIGHT CIRCLE, so every few days I'm either up or down on that fun-filled roller coaster ride. Plus, I'm completely impatient and a bit of a control freak (okay, a TOTAL control freak), and those traits don't bode well in the publishing biz, no they don't bode well at all.

Judging from past experience, the further I get into the book, the more my confidence will rise. I just finished the third chapter, and am about 7,000 words in. Once I figure out how the victim got whacked and who did it, I'll be fine. I know who she is, I'm just not sure who'd want to kill her or why. I mean I have some ideas, but I'm not quite there yet. After all, she's a perfectly lovely lady, drop-dead gorgeous (bad pun, I know), plays tennis, watches her neighbor's kids, gets regular facials at the spa. What's not to like? Until I figure out the mystery, be glad you're not my husband, kids, or kitties, because I'll be like a totally neurotic mess, dude!

Of course, once the WORLD'S HOTTEST LITERARY AGENT who's meant to represent me finally stops playing hard to get and shows him/herself, then all will be well in my world.

That is, until I start the next book...

So, I'm sending out an SOS to the world. Is this the same for any of you? Words of wisdom? Specific names of bridges to jump off of? Poison to drink? Chocolate to eat? New shoes to buy? Should I call The Police and ask their advice? I'm sure Sting could stop riding his horse on his huge-ass English estate for like five minutes to give me some words of wisdom. I mean, it wouldn't kill him or anything. (Why does everything in my life lately revolve around killing and murder?)

Anyway, you get the picture. I NEED HELP!!!!
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