Hello, dear blogging friends! I have had a full plate with no time to blog or read blogs for some time now. I won’t make excuses, whine, or pretend that I am busier than the rest of you. Goodness knows, we are all busy.
With all good intentions, I stepped back from my blog to focus on finishing my novel. Here is what I did about that thing called my manuscript. Squat. Zilch. Nada. Zippo.
But here are a few of the things I did manage to accomplish:
- Fixed the crisis in the Mideast. I got the nicest thank you note from the president.
- Solved the world hunger problem by whipping up several batches of my famous beef stroganoff. That stuff sticks to your ribs.
- Figured out why the Kardashians are popular. Oh, wait. That question will never be answered.
With all those heady issues resolved, I am happy to report that I am writing/editing again.
My novel was all but finished so why the heck wasn’t I taking it to the finish line? Why work so hard on telling the story and then leave it moldering, languishing, and mildewing in a file on my laptop? (Do computer files mildew?)
So, I dusted off my manuscript and with a fresh eye and renewed spirit, set about finishing what I started so long ago. I did a read-through and was thrilled to find out I didn’t hate it and want to throw the mildewed bather in the trash.
With the help of a dear friend, who has a keen eye for holes in the story and incongruity, I polished the sentences, added depth where the story was thin, and deleted stuff that just didn’t make literary magic. I am forever in her debt
Now the burning question is how to get the damn thing published. Agent? Self-publish? Assisted self-publishing? Running off mimeo copies of it and passing it out on the street corner? The whole process of getting published makes the writing part look easy.
Plagiarizing my own blog, I wrote this a long time ago:
“The discussions on self-publishing vs. traditional publishing and the changing industry are robust with good information. Just when I think “Ah ha! I have a game plan,” I read something else counseling that Game Plan B is better. Then I read another article with the advice that the sure-fire way to go is Game Plan C. And on and on it goes. Without sounding like I am whining (well maybe a little), I’d like to be adopted by someone who says, “Here honey, I’ll handle it for you.” Since being adopted is unlikely at my age, I’ll forge ahead on my own for now.”
Like in Mel Brooks movie, Young Frankenstein, I wish someone would hand me this: