I hate to write

Washing the dishes is more fun than writing. Sweeping is more fun that writing. Straightening the house, putting away the piles of paper that somehow accumulated over the week, tossing shoes back into the appropriate closets are all more fun than writing. Cutting the first blooms of spring and arranging them in just the right vase is more fun that writing. Walking the dog and cleaning up after him is more fun than writing. Anything is better than writing.

That’s the big dark secret; writers hate to write. Today I have done everything I just listed in an effort to avoid sitting here and getting to work on the edits my awesome new friend, Cassie, has given me. They were simple yet insightful and I am trying my damnedest not to get to them. Even writing the blog entry is an effort to avoid it. I know it has to be done, but I’m still waiting for her line edits so I know, even when I get the major plot edits taken care of there is still more to come.

Now I’ve made a major life decision about the future of my books. I’ve decided to self-publish through e-books. Thanks to the e-reader boom the stigma of self-publishing is slowly dying. I have tried for over a year now to get published through the traditional route. Now I didn’t take that as the cosmos telling me that my books are shite. Unfortunately my story is a paranormal young adult story and that’s a huge business right now. It’s unfortunate because there are literally thousands of other writers all submitting in that same genre, so my query is getting lost among the slush. I know that’s not special, but I really really really want to be published. I really really really want people to read my books.

I have always dreamt of walking into my local book store and seeing my book on the shelf. I’ve always dreamt of my first book signing, even if only a handful of people showed up, I would love those few people for the rest of my life. By self-publishing I’m probably giving up on those dreams. And that’s okay. It’s a means to my first dream; people reading my books and enjoying them. I think my stories are unique and fun and I want to give other people the same escape some of my favorite authors have given me.

But I’m terrified. That’s why my house looks awesome right now and I wouldn’t be embarrassed for any of my neighbors to drop by unexpectedly. If I go through with this and it bombs I’ll have to give up on this precious baby of mine and start a new project and be back at square one. Now my lovely new friend, Cassie, tells me she would definitely be interested in reading book 2 to see where the story goes and see if she likes it more than book 1. She liked book 1, maybe not loved, but she liked it. And since Cassie isn’t my mom, my husband or a close friend, she’s not lying to me. I’ll take like. Like is good. Like will get you to read book 2 and possibly book 3 and god-willing, book 4 and 5. But like I said, I’m terrified.

Everyone was talking, blogging and tweeting about the self-published writer who went ballistic over her neutral review last week. Sadly, I read the review and it was honest and good. The dude told his readers that her story was good and you would keep turning the pages, the only thing wrong was the fact that she clearly hadn’t proofed her own work or had a 2nd part proof it for her. The main glaring problem was typos and awkward phrasing. Seriously? And she freaked out over that? That’s on her, totally. Which is clearly why she lost it. The defense mechanism kicked in and the off switch was clearly broken. I am my fourth draft of book 1 and I still find typos, you better believe I search for them and ask all my beta readers to look for them too. But if that’s the worst a blogger can say about your book, be grateful. I pray I get such a nice review for my first book because that’s how I’m going to have to get my book out there, with bloggers. And I’ll send them all flowers and chocolate if they like my book as much.

Anyway, this is 750 words long, that’s enough procrastinating on my part. I have to get back to this wretched book and finish it. Damnit.