Taking a refrain from President Barack Obama's tune to almost any new policy he implements, I echo his lyrics:"No one said it was going to be easy..."
Cheers, Mr. President. You said it.
But I did it. I wrote my novel.
I put pen to paper (more like fingers to keyboard), traveled, interviewed, researched, wrote, and researched some more—then traveled some more; worked with an editor, a proofreader, another proofreader, and a couple more readers with a critical eye. It's still being corrected as words here and there crop up that hurt "translation," as it were. The paperback book won't even be ready for another month, most likely.
After 15 years of sorting out the mystery, taking months and sometimes a year to think about things— it has all worked out. I did it. I put my ideas down, and now they are in print.
At least three people have approached me to help them write their books, now (as if it's truly that easy for me to write now that my first novel is published).
Everyone says that marketing is where the work begins.
Not for me. I accomplished my feat.
Sure, I want people to read my novel, but I'll deal with the marketing stuff next year (which is coming up soon enough). For now, I'm just learning how to live separate from something that has been inside me for so long. And I want to revel in the feeling.
My Editor, Phyllis Ring, told me that I would go through postpartum depression. And, it has been an emotional roller coaster for me as I re-assign myself a new identity from "aspiring writer," to "author."
But, I'm over that already, too. I'm luxuriating in the new feeling.
I have so much to do, but, honestly, after 15 years of working on this, for whatever comes next—I have all the time in the world.
I'm proud of my work. It's absolutely the best that I could do under my circumstances. And right now, that's all that matters to me.
Oh yeah. And I was admitted to the New Hampshire bar this year. So, it's been a great year.
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