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It's looking more and more like 2014 might be the year. The year where things stop going wrong and start coming together. The year where all the ducks finally get in a row and stay there long enough for me to push that ever-elusive 'publish' button.
(There is a 'publish' button, right? I'll be very disappointed if there isn't...)
And it worries me. I worry. It's what I do. If I didn't worry about this, I would worry about something else. And I do—worry about something else. But mostly, these days, I worry about this.
But despite the worry, I keep moving forward and I keep taking those steps and I keep crossing things off my "Publishing To Do List."
And then I add three more things, but that's a different post for a different day.
Today I thought I might ramble a little bit about what happens after publication. You know, the part where you're supposed to market the book and tell the world that you've done this thing and you want to share it with them.
Yeah. I don't think I'm going to be very good at that part.
Yesterday at my writers group, I was asked how the book was coming, and because it was a woman I like and felt comfortable with, I told the truth. Things are going well; this thing could actually happen—and relatively soon, even. Her response was one of which I imagine most writers would be glad. Excitement, glee, an announcement of "I can't wait to buy and read your book!"
My reaction: "Excuse me while I hide under this table."
And then, just the other day on My Pet Blog, I hosted author Tara Tyler as she debuted the cover for her new novel. She made a mention in the comments of the two of us one day doing a book signing together in New England. Another person might have thought, "Oh hey, yeah! That sounds awesome!"
My reaction: "A book signing? In public? Where people can see me? Excuse me while I hide under my desk."
Once upon a time, I wanted to be an actress or a singer, or a singing actress hybrid person. I wanted to perform as Eponine in Les Misérables on Broadway (and still kind of do. On My Own is my jam, y'all!); I wanted to sing opera at the Met (I no longer wish to do this. I no longer have the range for that.). I spent my last two years of high school performing in every play and singing every solo for which my voice was suited. I went to college and did the same thing for a while because I loved being on stage. It was nerve-wracking, but exhilarating, and I wanted to do it.
Obviously, I didn't do those things. College took me down another path, as college often does, and I ended up pursuing the writing thing instead. But post college, I did a two year stint as a high school English teacher at a school for at-risk teens, which requires one to stand up on a daily basis in front of a class of extra angry teenagers. And I did that, too.
So I'm not sure what happened. I don't know what transformed me into this shy-mouse-wall-flower-girl who wants to hide any time anyone even looks in her direction, but that's who I am right now. I imagine it'll make the whole promoting thing hard. Not impossible—nothing's impossible, right?—but hard. I'm not sure what I'm going to do or how I'm going to do it.
But I will do it. Because as my good friend Eleanor Roosevelt believes, you should "do one thing every day that scares you."
And this scares the you-know-what out of me.
So I guess that leaves me with only one thing to say...
All right, Mr. DeMille—I'm ready for my close-up.
Which I'm totally not (and likely never will be) but...Fake it until you can make it, right?
So how do you deal with the things that scare you (whatever they may be...) To quote another good friend of mine..."What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?" (Bonus Points for anyone who can Name! That! Reference!)
Thanks for stopping by today. It's always appreciated.