Anxiety

Now for high anxiety! Yesterday, I finished editing my novel.  And when I say finished I really mean that I inserted written corrections into the computer, hoping that I caught every mistake, but most likely missing a few.  So, I have sent my manuscript to four different friends/colleagues, three of which are fellow English Majors, another a grammar guru, one a doctor, and the last, a fellow novelist gone to the dark side of video game lust.  We are all praying to he makes a quick recovery. 

I fret over their handling of my work.  Not that they will bash it and say it is no good.  No, my self esteem has grown too strong to let that bother me.  It’s the time.  Will they spend a week, two weeks, a month, six months reading it?  When I call will they give stock responses such as, “Oh, I’m real busy right now but I cannot wait to read it.” All the while they are sitting on their couch, watching the latest episode of “True Blood” or “Family Guy” or deeply enthralled with a quest on Warcraft.  Let’s hope not.  A handful of seventh and eighth graders, a portion of my intended audience, read the four hundred pages in a week or less.  Let’s hope, for my sanity, that my peers can pull off a similar feet.  I would really appreciate that.  Seeing that I am waiting on their response, their insightful critiques, their editing eye before I proceed to self publish.  If not, then maybe I will beg my wife to let my shell out five hundred bucks for an editor.  That, or I will scour the universities in the area and entice a grad student to take my novel on as an editing project, all for the low low price of zero dollars.  Zero is better than five hundred.  So, until then, I bid my silent listeners farewell. 

The great debate

The great debate still ensues, but today, I am leaning toward self publishing, continuing with what I am doing now.  I enjoy it.  The creative process is mine. No one can take it away from me or tell me to change something integral to the story because the editor feels it won’t appease to the masses.  So, to hell with them I say.  This week at least.  Ah, the mind of the indecisive.  God love us.  However, I do have good news.  I am on page 125 of 260 (of a micro format I created.  The book is actually 400+ pages) of the final editing process.  It should take me only a day or two more to finish plugging in the hand written corrections to word.  Soon after, I will have a group of respectable people read it, trash it, trash it, and maim it, all for my benefit.  Until then, keep reading silent listeners. 

Alas, a deadline unmet

More than a month a goes by, and still no prologue.  It’s finished to be sure.  Read over it three times, scrutinizing every line and word in front of me.  Paranoia and fear run rather deep, however.  I need another detective’s eye, a fellow literary and writing guru as myself.  Luckily, blessed?  I have friends, fellow English Majors who will read over the story for me.  Hopefully they hold no punches.  I’m much too sensitive to be humored for the sake of feelings.  Besides, I have no time for that shit.  I really want to publish this book. 

And there in light is the real quandary, do I continue with the blog and through much effort and paranoia self publish?  Or do I attempt the traditional route, writing query letter, synopsis, outline, purchase a few hundred stamps and envelopes, and wait impatiently at the mailbox for that rejection letter?  Do I put my life’s work in the hands of an agent or myself?   

Some would argue vehemently for and against both options, and both sides would make valid points.  Maybe I’ll try both.  If anyone out there is listening, please, some advice would be wonderful.  I, and no one should for that matter, am above helpful suggestions.