Quiet industry
The book is out. It was released from pre-order status yesterday, and on the occasion I took some time to reflect on the scant few years I've been at this. I had the opportunity to talk to a new colleague about my writing and books, and I always talked about where things started, and how, and when, but comparing the dates of publication to the timeline of effort, it's only really been four years. It feels like longer to me, of course. I'm reminded of that interview where the reporter asks the entertainer about their "overnight success" and the entertainer gives the reporter that look, the look, insight into all the time when no one knew who they were. I'd like to have an interview like that someday.
I'm up to chapter 18, and the novel has turned out about as well as I could expect. I can foresee only a small number of wrinkles upcoming, and then I can call it a finished draft. It's exciting to feel like things have worked out well, but also disheartening to think that it's taken me this long. I look back at all the time I wasted, all the days when I could've been writing and wasn't. I look forward, though, and am happy that I can begin trying to open a new chapter of this story I'm making up as I go.
I don't have a lot to say, which is I think why I don't find myself doing this very often. The Con has come to town again, and I don't feel very motivated to attend. The book festival is happening again, and it is an anniversary of regret that I went, read from my book, was terrified, and haven't tried to go back since. I want to change that, but I don't know what smaller steps to take to build up to it.
I am also developing a new short story idea, but that is slow going, like always. As I said last time, telling people about it might have been a mistake. Whenever I think about it now, there's a hint of it that is disgusting to me, like a portion of it is under-cooked and I can literally taste it. I think if I develop some more of the parts that I feel good about, as opposed to simply hopeful, I think it will restore my confidence. The plan, moving forward is for there to be a holiday season of submissions, the novel, the short story, grad school. Perfect time for a miracle of acceptance.
In the mean time, though, I'll be in my quiet little corner, making plans out of dreams.
I'm up to chapter 18, and the novel has turned out about as well as I could expect. I can foresee only a small number of wrinkles upcoming, and then I can call it a finished draft. It's exciting to feel like things have worked out well, but also disheartening to think that it's taken me this long. I look back at all the time I wasted, all the days when I could've been writing and wasn't. I look forward, though, and am happy that I can begin trying to open a new chapter of this story I'm making up as I go.
I don't have a lot to say, which is I think why I don't find myself doing this very often. The Con has come to town again, and I don't feel very motivated to attend. The book festival is happening again, and it is an anniversary of regret that I went, read from my book, was terrified, and haven't tried to go back since. I want to change that, but I don't know what smaller steps to take to build up to it.
I am also developing a new short story idea, but that is slow going, like always. As I said last time, telling people about it might have been a mistake. Whenever I think about it now, there's a hint of it that is disgusting to me, like a portion of it is under-cooked and I can literally taste it. I think if I develop some more of the parts that I feel good about, as opposed to simply hopeful, I think it will restore my confidence. The plan, moving forward is for there to be a holiday season of submissions, the novel, the short story, grad school. Perfect time for a miracle of acceptance.
In the mean time, though, I'll be in my quiet little corner, making plans out of dreams.
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