My novel, To Give a Rose, is back among the living! You can, once again, buy it!
I’m not going to go through the entire saga of why it was out of touch and why it took so long to get it back. I’m just glad I can say I’m a published author without an asterisk again. All thanks be to Stefanie Fowler at Saltwater Media for making it happen.
Seriously, I used to think that once I found a publisher willing to say yes to my book, I’d basically be done. Perhaps there’d be a few loose ends to tie up, but basically I’d have done my part, hooray, I did it! And it would be time for other people to do their parts while I got on with writing the next book. Perhaps it works that way with some publishers, with some books, but in my experience, being a writer is a lot like being a parent in that your responsibilities change, but they never really go away. You’re never really done.
Not that I’ve ever been a parent, but I have parents, so I’m not entirely ignorant of the process.
So, the writing and editing is done, for better or worse. If I find a typo now, it’s too late! Now I have to resume marketing, a thing I do not know how to do, but will have to invent. It doesn’t help that I get overwhelmed easily and stall out, like an engine given too much gas at once. But I suppose I’ll figure that one out, too.
The other thing happening this year is I’m turning forty. I refuse to be intimidated by this fact. Older is what you get if you don’t die first, and I’m quite happy not to have died yet, thank you very much. I’m also quite happy that I am starting, ever so slowly, to stop judging myself for not being able to get done everything in a quick and straight-forward way. So what if it’s taken almost twenty years to shepherd this book from an idea into print? So what if I’ve become a great writer in the interim but have no idea what I’m doing in relation to marketing? So what if I don’t post to my blog and to social media really as often, or as regularly, as I’d like? We’re all going to die with items left on our to-do lists, anyway.
It’s not that short-comings and lapses and oversights don’t matter. They do. There are consequences. It’s that things happen over which we have no direct control and some of those things happen inside our own skulls. Others happen in the big, beautiful world out there, and in no case do I fully understand why everything is so gosh-darned difficult all the time, when it really looks like it shouldn’t be–and flagellating oneself for all of that or any of it is pointless.
I’m almost forty years old. I’m happily married, I’m currently healthy, I live in a place that is not a war zone, and I’ve managed to find a way of not only keeping my imaginary friends but getting other people to know and care about them, too.
Life is good.