Today’s blog is brought to you in association with a vague sense of panic.

It is a month until the Great Day of Publishing. I have so much to do. And I have nothing at all to do.

On my mental list:

• Write an article for a local magazine
• Answer questions for another magazine
• Write many blog posts
• Be interesting and insightful
• Arrange bookshop events

Like many people I can make myself work hard and be personable. I can cold-call companies, and bookshops, and ask favours and make demands on strangers’ time. But it’s hard work. I’ve just got off the phone to a bookshop: it took me a whole weekend to work up the courage; I had to rehearse what I wanted to say; I had to be the very best ‘me’ I could possibly be.

It takes time and energy and, until the last decision is made and the final arrangement tidied, there’s always a sense of incompleteness.

Of course, nothing is ever truly finished. Arranged an event with a bookshop? How am I going to get there? Do I need to book accommodation? What do I need to take? Oh God I’m probably going to have to do a reading!

What if no-one turns up?

On my to-not-do list:

• Harass the publisher
• Over-commit my time and energies
• Piss anyone off

I want to tick off the tasks. I want arrangements to be signed, sealed and delivered. But I’ve never done this before – do I do it myself or do my people (ha!) have people to do this sort of thing? I don’t want to duplicate work. I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. How many enquiries (per hour) can I send out before my emails get switched straight into the ‘annoying author’ siding?

What I should be doing:

• Writing something new
• Editing old works

If all else fails go write. It’s a healthy mantra.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to focus on the things that matter when there’s so much still unresolved.

Still, best be grateful; I can only imagine how the publisher’s feeling right now.

Apart from anything else they’ve got all my emails to read.