Which is a Very Exciting development in my life. Kind of snuck up on me while I was just taking care of loose ends.
I finally got almost all of the pre-publishing prep work done. What remains is a bio for myself as an author. This puts me in the uncomfortable territory of, “selling myself”. Makes me feel dishonest and pushy, as though I have a back lot full of nearly broken used cars or a coat lined with watches...
And yet it has to be done. Something has to be composed to make my mundane, old lady, self interesting, to intrigue readers (all younger than I) enough that they'll give my work a try. I've managed cover photos and back cover blurbs, found a photo of myself that didn't offend me and met the requirements (300 dpi), formatted and reformatted and picked at all the odd places in the text until there isn't much left for me to do in that department.
And I still rather like the stories, a point that surprises me when I'm also sick to death of looking at them. Even the covers and the blurbs aren't that bad. Maybe not professional, but I haven't made much money writing, so I'm NOT a Pro.
I'm doing this through Create Space, which offers a “preview option” that will allow me to publicly post sections of my novels. I'll be doing that soon – watch this space.
This space. Finally functional after much frustration. I have a fast and dirty gallery of some of my hats, but I'm also working on a much more extensive slide show. Living in the country, I've found upload times are dead slow, wire slow during the days, so it's one picture at a time or the internet stops talking to my computer half way through the second image. This is going to take a while, but I'm enjoying the hats and giving myself kudos that I was capable of creating them.
Reassuring. Most of them are sold and maybe that's an indication that my stories will sell as well.
But it doesn't silence that voice in my head that tells me I can't, I don't, I haven't, I am not good enough. This is the one that makes me feel sleazy when I go to write a bio or sell my work. It's the echos of mockery by childhood peers and dismissal by the adults I was trying to please. I don't know, maybe everyone has that voice – or several – nattering away at them and we're just not supposed to admit it...
A subject to discuss in another story.
Not the current project – Back Roads, the Romance of the non-binary and the alien is nearly complete and ready to send out for proofing. It needs another set of eyes – and I've had a hard time scaring up beta readers.
Maybe the next novel. It's got heaps of research piling up because it's Historical, after a fashion, being placed in the Haight-Ashbury of 1967. I'll need to do some research in The City itself, as well, but not until I've got Back Roads ready to publish. Those characters in the next one (called The House) will just have to sit and gossip with each other while I sweep the desk so I have a full focus on them.
I'm looking forward to making some sense of their lives.
Who knows – maybe when I'm done with that one my nagging internal negative will be silenced, because I CAN, I DO, I HAVE, I AM GOOD ENOUGH. I must be – look at the hats I've made! Look at the stories I write, children I raised, the food I've cooked, the houses I helped design and build, the gardens I've planted, harvested and preserved.
I'm OK. I just don't like bragging about it, I guess.