I'm a writer.
I write things.
But only for an hour a day because I'm also a stay-at-home mom.
To a toddler.
Gmail me at ccr002
Clicky-click below to go to my Etsy shop!
That’s what I was told.
Apparently I was bordering on novella length. And printing costs, profits, something, blergh blah blarg…
So I was told to get back to work on my finished work, and I immediately did the metaphorical equivalent of melting into a heap on the floor and whining, “But I don’t wanna! My life is over! Wah!”
Tantrum complete, I started waking up at 4 am again, the only time I get some peace and quiet. I coffeed the hell out of myself, and I got back to work. I saw a post on Toni’s blog a while back that said “Your dreams won’t work unless you do.” This became my mantra. This has become my mantra. I fucking want this on a T-shirt.
I’m halfway done now. My novel is solidly in the “novel-length” category. What I wrote wasn’t mere filler, it was good. It was surprise-myself good. It fleshed out the story. It gave scenes more impact. It was necessary.
So I’m forced to sit here and think, maybe people in the publishing industry actually know what they’re doing. Maybe all those rejections were a good thing. Maybe I’m a little bit grateful that I had to revisit my finished ouvre. Or maybe I’m suffering from sleep-deprivation and clutching at straws. I dunno. I’m glad I’m almost finished though. A second time.