A slightly adapted quote from writer Rebecca Serle.
These were the actual circumstances: I COMPLETED MY TAX RETURNS for April 2012-2013. The final deadline to do this is January 31st, 2014. That meant I'd done it TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY SIX DAYS EARLY.
My accountant will pass out with shock.
The delusion, the warping of actual circumstances into something different: That I was virtuous to complete my tax returns.
I became VERRRRRRRY self-congratulatory and smug.
Only later did I admit to myself that the only reason I had done it was to avoid doing something else.
How can it be that completing tax returns is preferable to reading through Of Night And Light, my novel, as preparation for sending it out to a new set of publishers, carefully researched and selected by me over the weekend?
Sending off my novel is THAT CONFRONTING?