Bet you didn’t know that forty-three pages could mean a title wave in your gut. That even the musli that the mate swears by to give me my daily fiber content is surfing the Bonzaii pipeline in my belly. Forty-three pages; Ten thousand, nine hundred, eighty-nine words later, SWINGERS is uploaded to Kindle publishing for e-book release, sometime today.
Publication is the goal, and it’s the dream, but it’s also its own minefield and one you need to approach with open eyes, a steadfast heart, and a willingness to fall and panic a few times. The mines are not buried and unseen, but they are there. Rightfully so. They should be there or every wandering bit of drivel would end up clotting up the works and the pieces we crave would not make it past to come to claim space in our libraries. This is not to say that everything out there doesn’t have an abject ‘anti-audience’ who could do without it. They are there, and they should be as well.
The point is that it needs to be a labor to get to publication to make the prize valuable, the journey worth pursuing, and the end result the ultimate achievement. My mother used to say, about many things, that if it were easy anyone could do it. Publication is one such thing. The drive to go through the writing process, to take the praise and the criticism, to rewrite, to edit out, to format and reformat, just to get to the point where someone else MIGHT look at it, and then go through it all again to refine it to something that can be put out for the world to see…THAT is the price and the payoff of being a writer.
Today I claim my title as AUTHOR. Not aspiring author; Author. Today I completed a journey. Start to finish, conception of the idea to giving the publication right to someone to release the story. I am a writer, I am a dreamer. I am an author. Forty-three pages says so.
Many blessings today. I’ve counted mine, have you?