I was up early this morning after four and one half hours of sleep. I had worked an eight hour shift last night at my seasonal call center job and didn't get in until after midnight.
My book proposal has occupied my day, from about 5:30am, until now. I did manage to get out for a brief walk with my trusty companion, Bernie. Other than that, it's been edit, edit, edit, trying to get my sample chapters up to a standard that an editor will sit up and say, "damn, this some good writing."
I should be ready at some point tomorrow to get my first mailing out to a publisher and thus begins the waiting game.
As I wrote the other night, it's somewhat frustrating to see non-writers touting books that anyone knows damn well, they didn't write. Writing is a grind, whether you are writing poetry, fiction, sci-fi, or nonfiction.
At this point, I'm running on fumes and not able to focus enough to write anything coherent on some of the topics I intended to touch on earlier in the day.