You've probably noticed I've been author site AWOL for quite some time.
It was not planned.
You see, I've been madly trying to finish two books.
One very complex. Draft, well written. One rather simple. Draft, a nightmare.
The former, literary, epic length. The latter, typical genre length.
Being a novelist is a bloody thankless job. One wonders why any weirdo would do it.
Exhibit A - I'm that weirdo. Excuse - I have none. Punishment - I'm in book writer jail and the guard threw away the key. I am doomed.
When these two works are put to bed, they will be my 6th and 7th books.
I am not wet behind the ears.
I know what it takes to create a book length work from a mere scene flash in one's mind. There are no short cuts. There are no quick fixes. No matter what so-called experts say.
There is only a cohesive plot-line, chapters, scenes. Characters to be believed. Tension and pace to maintain. A theme throughout that grabs the reader and never lets go.
With these two books, the first some 7 years in the making, the second around 4, all of the above has been done. The books are written. But the editing still continues in the latter one.
And I'm tired. So bloody tired...
I am satisfied with both story lines, but it's like walking through Flanders Field mud to re-read another page in the editing process. Seriously. I am emotionally dry-heaving here.
But I must. There are still gaffes.
Red pen ink still stains each page, screaming at me to fix the damn goof-ups. I am not striving for perfection. But what I am demanding is to take the reader on a trip where my mistakes don't take his flying carpet into a deadly nose dive.
The first book is ready for agent/publisher submission.
The second book I'm only a third of the way done in the editing process. And I do have a tight process. Every step has to pass muster with me. Every. Damn. Step. Or I refuse to submit to anyone.
The second book. I was a supreme idiot. I decided to leave my literary genre world where I had a slow and steady approach to a masterful draft and instead lose my brain and dip my toe into the online genre money-making world. So-called book selling experts said, "Write your pulp fiction books fast. Pump them out. Have an assembly line of forgettable reads that will make loads of evergreen cash." Okay, that last sentence is me talking, but you get the drift.
And sure, pulp fiction scribes out there are pumping out 3-6 or more books per year, and making a truck-load of greenbacks that they then use to hire some poor pro editor schmuck who has to weave gloss to into the muck and mire of that bloody horrid draft. God, please have a special place in heaven for these editors!
I am damn well old enough to ignore these money-grubbing idiots. But what did I do? I tried their way, anyway. I am far too trusting. And at my age, that is just embarrassing. I wonder if I'll finally see the light on my death bed?
Hence, the second book is THE WORST written draft of my book writing life. No other compares to this unadulterated crap.
So, I've been neck-deep in red pen gaffes from draft start to edit finish. It's taken me longer to iron out this simple story line than it ever did my epic length literary.
I knew. I KNOW better. I need to hit myself with something hard and sharp for ever listening to these commercial imbeciles, who can pump out junk and still look at themselves in the mirror.
So, yes, I'm still slogging on...
Red pen in hand, ROL — Read Out Loud — my genre draft, and fight like Hell to get this book into a smooth, seamless form.
I'm lonely. I'm tired. God, am I tired. My hair is tangled. My eye bags have eye bags. And I'm angry as Hell... with myself.
I am NEVER listening to another so-called online expert ever again. May they all go outside and play Hide and Go Eff Themselves!
I'm "hoping" to finish this final ROL in 2 weeks time.
I'm "planning" to take the month of December off to re-introduce myself to life and be human again.
I'm "scheduling" to submit both books by mid January 2025 when agents/publishers are finally back in the office and are again emotionally open to reading manuscripts.
And when these two books are off, I'm starting another. It's already well into the research phase. Heck, even the first opening scene is already written.
Did I mention I'm a book-writing weirdo?
Yes, bloody heck, I did. And I am.
I wonder... is it too late to take a pipe fitter's course?
