Now it’s time to bite the fingernails and wonder what’s coming next… or I could just start writing the next book. Oh wait, I already did that.
There are times I wonder what I’m doing, and how I can possibly keep this up. I’m nobody? Why are people reading what I write? Classic author nerves. Which doesn’t make it easier, knowing that. All I can do is keep fluttering onward, because to stop is… well, I don’t think it’s possible. I must write. Fortunately, there’s a way to give that an outlet.
At least when I push the button, nothing bad happens. The world doesn’t burst into fire. In the immortal words of Marvin the Martian ‘where’s the earth-shattering kaboom?’ All that happens is that in a day or two, there’s a shiny new cover on display, and months of work is suddenly public. It’s like baring a little piece of my soul, every time. No wonder some authors can’t handle the pressure.
It’s not that my books are widgets. Each one has a little of me in it, they aren’t just color-by-numbers. But once I’ve finished that raw creative stage, I get to a point where like a mother bird with her fledglings, I just want to get it out of the nest to fly on it’s own, or fall to the earth and be eaten by a passing skunk. Then I can turn my energy to another nestful of eggs.
Sometime tomorrow I will have a live link for Farmhand on Amazon.