Yay! My first novel is now available on Kindle (early e-book release). Yes, I am excited. But I realize I have my work cut out for me. My publisher is a very small press, and I am not famous or popular by any means, so If I want to get the word out, I am going to have to hustle. So I have been researching, taking notes, talking to friendly fellow authors (thank you Mike Lynch for your pearls of wisdom) and formulating a plan of attack. This is in addition to all my other chores, tasks and jobs I need to get done this month. One thing I have not been doing, though, is writing. And I am not happy about it.
I quit smoking many years ago, and it was one of the best things I have ever done. But breaking free of the habit was tough. It was all I could think about. I could not picture my morning coffee, lunchtime beverage, or my bedtime reading session without a cigarette in my hand. It was irritating, and I felt lost. I am feeling much the same way right now.
So am I addicted to writing? I don't know. I share very few of my works with others (although I plan to change that) and I get shy when I begin to talk about my book. So if I am afraid to share and let the world see what I have done, why do I prefer to spend my evenings in front of this terrible keyboard that skips my v's half of the time and periodically decides to quit spacing my words? I tried replacing the keyboard twice and I keep returning to this...thing. Don't ask why. I'm just trying to figure out why the darn thing has become so rickety and unreliable.
I suppose it doesn't matter. I can still get a blog update done (32 corrections so far). And it is a way of sneaking in some writing. Now let's see how long before my next update.