A little over a month ago, my husband and our neighbour, Brian, put up the rather generous deck that came with our house, just in time for the first really nice weekend we had. Jason and I spent a relaxing Sunday morning before (online) church, sitting on the deck, talking and drinking coffee.

I’m very grateful for that deck, even if we still have to drag our dining room chairs out there when we want to use it—especially this week.

Because this week, it’s supposed to reach almost 40 above. (That’s Celsius. In Fahrenheit, that’s 104.)

When you live in northern Alberta, you’re prepared for 40 below. You may not like it, but you expect it to happen once in a while.

But 40 above?

Nope.

No one here has AC. And all those windows in my new house that I adore the other 51 weeks of the year? They’re kind of working against us now.

If we had a working barbecue and deck furniture, I’m pretty sure we’d be living out there in the mornings and evenings right now. But, we don’t. Now I know what the goal is for next year.

(And I’m trying not to worry about my oldest son, who’s volunteering as a gardener on the coast—working long days outside in temperatures already well above 40 degrees. Sounds like it’s been a bit of a trial, but he’s avoided heat stroke so far.)

Anyway, while I’m basically just talking about life, the universe, and everything, it’s probably time I update the blog about my writing.

I finished the first draft of The Sphinx’s Heart on June 3, which clocked in at about 272,000 words. Ever since, I’ve been slogging through the revisions, trying to keep one step ahead of my copyeditor. (To be honest, I’m trying to work far ahead of my copyeditor, but that hasn’t happened yet. It’s been a lot of work, y’all!)

See, I finished the first draft only four days before the date I’d booked with her. Graciously, she let me push that back by a week, but that still wasn’t enough time to make much headway. Most of that week was spent just figuring out what the problems were and how to fix them. I’m glad I’d had a developmental assessment on the first 3/4 of the manuscript already (from a different editor). After finishing the first draft, I took a few hours off to celebrate, then read the critique. Most of the next week was spent overhauling everything. Then I began the nitty-gritty work, which I’ve been doing ever since.

The story is getting better, and I’m grateful. I have the book on preorder on Amazon, Apple, and Barnes & Noble already for October, and I’ve already used up my grace “you can move this date once because the pandemic is hard” option with Amazon so that’s the definite date of release unless I want to cancel the preorder (and I don’t), which means the absolute last day I have to get the copyedit finished is September 13.

I’m optimistic I can get the story whipped into shape and ready to release on time. But optimistic isn’t the same as confident—everything with this book has taken so much longer than I wanted. Blame the pandemic, blame me figuring out my writing process, blame the stress of the last year—they’d all be reasons why. I feel like I’m still figuring things out, but at this point, I just so badly want to be finished with this book. I love it, but I need to work on something new.

At the same time, I’m terrified of putting it out in the world… but that’s just normal. I’ve learned to live with impostor syndrome. ;-)

Anyway, June 3 was also a significant date for another reason—it was the sixth anniversary of Levi’s death. While finishing the manuscript that day meant the day itself wasn’t bad for me, I’d certainly had some rough moments leading up to that over the previous month or so—rough enough that I’ve been talking to a therapist for the last few weeks. I probably should have started that much sooner, as I’m feeling so much better now. Still, I hope to develop some new skills and tools for dealing with that downward spiral the next time it comes around.

Anyway, I need to get editing. Happy Monday, friend!

Wherever you are, I hope you find a way to stay cool.