Alright! Being on the cusp of actually putting my work in front of others' eyes, I've officially entered into the “scared-shitless-of-rejection” phase! I did it, you guys! I'm a real author!
This is all quite a mind-job. To go from being fairly confident of a decent quality book when it's in front of me, to completely bereft of confidence when I'm away from it...well, it's undesirable, to say the least. I mean, if I was perpetually self-assured, then my state of mind would persevere regardless, right? Even if the book sucked, I'd at least be comforted inside my cocoon of narcissistic denial, and so everything would be great! RIGHT?
Sadly, having self-confidence is like grabbing at lemonade. Most of it slips through your fingers, but there's a sugary-sweet, sticky residue that doesn't completely go away. So that's...good?
That was weird...I don't even really like lemonade.
I guess doubt is a pretty good anchor for grounding someone, no matter how unpleasant it might be. It's hard to imagine reaching a level doing this were doubt becomes a thing of the past. Every new endeavor is brand new—unique, as per the ideal nature of creation—and so how does anyone become fully confident of something that's never before seen the light of day?
Each story is different, probably derived in some part from somewhere else but still unique in its own way. Each one a string of symbols thousands long...letters and numbers and punctuation...all linked in such a fashion that renders it utterly original, at least from a perspective of the bare sequence. The story or characters might be similar to others, but no one on the planet has ever put all those symbols in that very same order, and so in that regard the work is unlike any other.
Kind of like a person. Unique.
It freaks me out, thinking like that. I know I shouldn't. It makes the gulf of error a wide one. It evokes a feeling of utter loneliness, like a single explorer out in uncharted lands, and it's scary as hell. So, I guess I'll just stop thinking like that. Y'know, because changing oneself is that easy.
One hundred manuscript pages to go on what I'll call my final edit. This word-bun in this word-oven is getting all nice and toasty. I'm putting together my list of ARC candidates, and very soon I'll be formatting and distributing the ARCs themselves. Haven't nailed down a final publish date yet, but I think we're looking at late June.
Life is terrifying.
Back to work.
This is all quite a mind-job. To go from being fairly confident of a decent quality book when it's in front of me, to completely bereft of confidence when I'm away from it...well, it's undesirable, to say the least. I mean, if I was perpetually self-assured, then my state of mind would persevere regardless, right? Even if the book sucked, I'd at least be comforted inside my cocoon of narcissistic denial, and so everything would be great! RIGHT?
Sadly, having self-confidence is like grabbing at lemonade. Most of it slips through your fingers, but there's a sugary-sweet, sticky residue that doesn't completely go away. So that's...good?
That was weird...I don't even really like lemonade.
I guess doubt is a pretty good anchor for grounding someone, no matter how unpleasant it might be. It's hard to imagine reaching a level doing this were doubt becomes a thing of the past. Every new endeavor is brand new—unique, as per the ideal nature of creation—and so how does anyone become fully confident of something that's never before seen the light of day?
Each story is different, probably derived in some part from somewhere else but still unique in its own way. Each one a string of symbols thousands long...letters and numbers and punctuation...all linked in such a fashion that renders it utterly original, at least from a perspective of the bare sequence. The story or characters might be similar to others, but no one on the planet has ever put all those symbols in that very same order, and so in that regard the work is unlike any other.
Kind of like a person. Unique.
It freaks me out, thinking like that. I know I shouldn't. It makes the gulf of error a wide one. It evokes a feeling of utter loneliness, like a single explorer out in uncharted lands, and it's scary as hell. So, I guess I'll just stop thinking like that. Y'know, because changing oneself is that easy.
One hundred manuscript pages to go on what I'll call my final edit. This word-bun in this word-oven is getting all nice and toasty. I'm putting together my list of ARC candidates, and very soon I'll be formatting and distributing the ARCs themselves. Haven't nailed down a final publish date yet, but I think we're looking at late June.
Life is terrifying.
Back to work.
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