On something of a whim, I decided to start a blog. Why? Because I've got too much time on my hands? I wish. Because I talk too much and everyone I know is tired of listening? Probably, but that is not why either.
It's because I enjoy writing. Writing is fun, and it passes the down time at work. I work out stories in my head when I'm having trouble sleeping. It relaxes me. It entertains me. It's improved my typing speed to something that my high school typing teacher could only dream of.
The trouble is, I actually finished a book. About a hundred thousand words later, I seriously wrote the last line and everything. The plots are wrapped up, the loose ends are tied, and it is done. (Except for some editing, of course.) I've never actually done that before. Then I wondered what to do with it.
I have had vague thoughts for a long time about publishing, but they were always in the "if I win the lottery" category. They lingered somewhere between fantasy and almost impossible in my mind. However, as it became clear that I would really finish my novel, I decided that I really would try to get it published.
That is where my peace and serenity ended. Suddenly, my formerly relaxing activity has become an anxiety ridden study in masochism. However, I made my decision and I'm going to make a fair attempt. I think I need to, or I will regret it later.
I don't know if anything will come of it. I'm a pessimist by nature and nurture. In light of that, on a regular basis I remind myself that almost certainly my book will go nowhere except into complete obscurity. And that's fine, but I've decided that my attempted journey into the scary and shadowy world of publishing deserves at least a blog, so here we go...
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