I feel kind of queasy. Well, “kind of” being an understatement. I feel like it’s derivative of a million other, better books. I feel like it will never be very good. And yet, there it is. Fifty-six thousand words that all go together to tell a story. Who thought I had it in me?
I wasn’t sure, that’s for sure.
I’m still not sure what it’s going to be like to write the second draft. I mean, not only have I never written a first draft before, I sure as hell haven’t done the kind of second-drafting this thing will need.
But I’ve also been poking around a lot on the internet and I find that I really like hearing about other people’s processes. And so I can’t resist telling you about mine. So, yes, six chapters, 56,000 words. First draft.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Whew, that feels good and scary.
Before I start my second draft, my goal is go get a firm idea of what that second draft needs to be. I worry that my aspirations are beyond my talent.
But we’ll see, right?
Did anyone else laugh out loud when they saw that Hardaway is getting Campfield to cosponsor his crap in the Senate?!
Okay, then, just me.
I’ve been looking at distribution through Barnes & Noble and Apple and I have to tell you, I can’t bring myself to do it. They won’t just write you a check for royalties. They want all your bank routing information to dump money into your bank account and they want a credit card number on the off chance that they need to charge you for returns.
Am I wrong for feeling creeped out by this?
While I’m sure places have a lot of financial information on me, just handing over that stuff and saying “I trust you! And your security!” just seems foolish.
So, I know I’ve talked a lot about the benefits of self-publishing, but, as things shake out, the drawbacks I see are that folks don’t take your publicity efforts seriously, that you don’t have the depth of knowledge to find places to distribute your book, and that companies want information from you, an individual, that requires you to take a disproportionate risk to what a company takes (meaning that, if I need to dispute an erroneous $5,000 charge to a credit card, the stakes in it not being resolved quickly are much higher for me as a regular person with a five figure income than it would be for a company).
Having someone you can turn the money hassles over to is not to be scoffed at, if that’s not your thing.
So, I’m working my way through nm’s playlist so that I can get things written up and sent off to Elias this evening, because I feel like it’s hanging over my head, like a sword of Damocles or a grand piano or whatever, and I get to Leon Russell’s song “Delta Lady” and I have a thought.
It’s a weird thought, but hear me out. Is it not very, very easy to imagine an alternate universe in which this is a Use Your Illusion-era Guns and Roses song?
I don’t know how to unhear it now. A quick perusal of the internet does not show any real overlap between Russell and GnR execpt that they’ve both covered “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” on occasion, but there you go.
It’s weird. but maybe Axl should cover some Russell. Could be interesting, and lord knows that’s more than you can say for the new GnR stuff.
Ha, I swear, just when I think this blog cannot sink any lower into revealing the mundane things that delight me, I’m here to tell you that the squeal at the AT&T building is back. Not as loud or as wonderful as before, but clearly, in the battle of WD40 v. that noise, WD40’s victory was called prematurely.
I really love walking the dog, who pooped twice this morning! I was thinking on our way back across the AT&T lawn that, while I understand why people use “fur kids” to describe their pets, that’s just not at all how I feel about Mrs. Wigglebottom. She’s not at all like my child. She’s just my friend. Which is to say, that’s enough for me and for her, I think.
I don’t know. That’s one of the joys of dogs. You can tell they have thoughts, but you can’t often tell what they are.