Writing for the sake of writing today.
I’m only a couple of weeks away from the publication of my new book. That should be exciting. Especially after a year’s work finally coming to fruition. Yet, I have mixed emotions; despite the feeling that it’s probably my best story in some time. I don’t mean to say that all the ‘work’ is behind me . . . in fact, the hard stuff is right around the corner. Promotion and sales. With every event, and I have several already in place, I dread the hauling of boxes from one location to another, unloading, taking inventory, repacking, and so it continues. Hauling alone means 8-10 boxes of books, each weighing about 35 pounds, setting up an attractive display, and self-promoting my work. I’m not an extrovert.
I’ve met two big-time authors (NYTimes list authors) with agents, publishers, and the editorial staff that a publishing house provides. Part of me is jealous. How neat it would be to write a story and pass it on to professionals who will take it from there. No applying for entrance in a craft show, no hauling books, no setting up anything.
Early on . . . more so with my first novel, I imagined the life of a successful writer like my two friends. To be honest, I’ve had that ‘fantasy’ a few other times. Going on a book tour with all the arrangements made in advance and the celebrity of it all. Fortunately, I’m over that now. At least I tell myself that. I’m comfortable with being a regional, self-published writer, with a nice local readership. And I get more than my fair share of compliments which is wonderful ego-food. I’m honest when I admit that it’s my readers that inspire me to keep going like the ‘energizer bunny’. And should you wonder about the economics of it all; each new book brings in enough money to cover the costs of the next book. (To date that includes thirteen novels and three children’s books–like I said earlier, that’s a lot of boxes to haul from one site to another throughout the month of November).
Am I. however, running out of energy as I’ve seemed to run out of expectations? I’ll never write a best-seller. Having just finished reading ‘Rules of Civility’ by Amor Towles and ‘The Shoemaker’s Wife’ by Adriana Trigiani, I am humbled.
As I contemplate the transition from the ‘marketing’ stage to the ‘writing’ stage–which is the five months of winter–there is the possibility that I might focus on short stories or novellas and children’s stories. I’ve got two children’s stories on my computer as I write this blog. However . . .
I’m still not quite over the dream–be it a fantasy or not–of finding an agent and/or publisher of one or more of my copyrighted novels. I’ve been told that the Moran saga through five generations would be a good series on HBO or Netflix. What if something like that were ever to happen in my lifetime. I’ve told my kids that after I’ve passed away I might have that dream realized without my being able to enjoy it all–the windfall would be theirs. Aah . . . I get ahead of myself again. For the first time ever, I plan on sending a copy of WAITING (my new title) to several NYC agents. Unsolicited and most likely to be deposited in a circular file because nobody wants a manuscript that they haven’t asked for. And if it’s self-published it’s considered less desirable and of no commercial value. Add to that, if it’s from an unknown author it’s an even worse scenario.
That’s about it for another absolutely gloomy October afternoon. If the sun were to pass over northern Minnesota one of these days I think it would be extremely uplifting. Alas, that’s not supposed to happen for some time. Isn’t alas an expression of grief, pity, or concern?

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