It’s weird, but the further along I get with this whole
becoming a self published author plan, the more I feel like my daydreams are
wandering into reality. I mean, I have a website that looks all pretty and
official, a shiny blog, covers, copy, and release dates for my books.
It’s like I’m becoming a real author and not just a crazy
person inflicting my words upon the world. Okay, so there are people who would
call the latter the definition of a self published author, but that’s not what
it feels like right now.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been going about it so deliberately
and putting so much work into. I mean, I have a business plan. Me. With a
business plan. Who would ever have thunk it?
Plus crazy people wouldn’t spend as much time editing as I’ve
been doing with Broken Hearts. Or
maybe they would… I’ve got my eye on you, brain. (Great way to sound non crazy,
self.)
It might be pointed out that I don’t have an audience, but I
don’t expect that yet, anyway. I’ve always figured I’ll need to get a few books
up before I can even think about that whole audience part.
So it’s weird. I spent a lot of time waiting for some
magical signal to tell me that I was good enough, but now I’ve decided to
simply judge my work as being ready for myself and it’s terrifying in some ways. What
if I’m not good enough? (whatever that
means) Am I reaching too far? Will I burn myself to cinder in the atmosphere?
Will I ever be able to craft a decent metaphor?
Who knows.
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