Hello (hello)… Is there anybody out there?
Several years ago, I decided that I would have a book published by the time I turned 35.
In April, that date came and went, and still I have no book.
Sometimes I set goals that seem to make sense at the time. They seem to be far away. They seem to allow enough time to do everything that needs to be done. But they don’t account for real life.
I like to imagine that if I were a full-time writer, I’d have all my ducks in a row. I’d leave the house, go to my creatively decorated shed (like Roald Dahl’s), and spend the day coming up with awesome things that would be loved by people around the world. However, when I have two hours free, and I know I should be writing, I do chores. I don’t know why. If I’ve decided I won’t write, I at least play video games or do something fun. But if I think I should be working, then I’m reorganizing junk in my apartment. I think it’s a form of self-torture by procrastination.
I’m on the 4th draft of a book now. I have beta readers sending me messages and asking when the book will be ready. This is a good place to be. But those last steps, which seemed so small a few months ago, are SO BIG right now. When in the world am I going to do all of this? I need a cover (I have a cover). I need multiple different formats for epublishing (once I get it typed in, I can do this with a few clicks). I need a website (got one), and a blog (started one), and a platform (got that, too), and, and, and, and…
What I really need to do is keep getting the book typed in. (I wrote draft #3 by hand.) But when I look at the notebooks filled with my chunky scrawl, it doesn’t seem that easy. Forget that I’ve been working on this book for over a year now. Forget that I’ve diligently written 3 complete drafts of it now, and it really is almost finished. Forget that I’ve put in over 150,000 words on it. It still feels hard right now.
I’m tagging this post naval-gazing. I apologize that you had to read it, but I really had to write it.