I have a week and a half of class to go (and a week after that to finish the class anthology).
In that time I have to pick up my book from my printer (I owe my customer service rep at my printer a box of Roses for being so fucking awesome … note to self, buy said Roses), finish the PDF layout on one e-book, proof another e-book, complete the sixth round of proofing on a magazine, give a speech, get more print quotes, give a second speech, finish the scene breakdown of my screenplay, write a report, assist the design on another print book, get that book printed, go to school, create the EPUB version of one of those e-books, proof that e-book and the new print book, start styling copy for the layout of yet another publication, phone the person paying me to do said setting of styles on copy…
(There will be more I have forgotten.)
Oh, and eat, sleep, rest my hands, survive.
After all that, I want to go and make the e-versions of Asylum so people who want to read my book can do so without selling half their soul to Australia Post (and so that people who don’t want to or can’t read print books have choices). But. It is a print book, and I am ridiculously pleased at how well I’ve somehow managed to style the text. I’m not a graphic designer and the cover is simple, but the inside, if I say so myself, looks gorgeous. And real. Like a real fucking book. I have made a book. I can do the layout of a book.