103,810.

That was the original word count when I “finished” writing my first novel back in December.

wordsThat’s a lot of words. I didn’t know I had that many words in me. Don’t get me wrong, I know I talk a lot. But…to get that many words out in sentences that form paragraphs that make sense in a story?

Wow.

But, turns out, that was actually too many words.

Shocking, I know.

So, I hired an editor. She helped me reduce the amount of verbiage I would utilize in order to carry my point across to the people who so generously decided they would do me the favor of casting their eyes upon my work.

Er. I mean, she helped me make my writing better.

So, now, nearly eight months later, it’s down to 93,155 words, according to Word.

That’s still a lot of words. But, I’m so happy for those that made the cut.

There is one more obstacle left…The Proofreader. She’s up this week.

Stay tuned to see if she makes any more cuts.

Cue maniacal laughter.

Fade to black.

 

Freezing.

cold feetIs it cold in here? Because my feet are freezing.

That’s right. Cold feet. I’ve got ’em.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve written, and I am sorry, friends. It was spring break, so I missed a week, then it became two…then well, now it’s nearly July, so…here we are.

Over the last couple months, I have done a significant amount of work on my book. My cover is done, essentially (and I love it). I’ve had it professionally edited, and I’ve had a few beta-readers read it, too.

Now, I’m working on “final edits” (I put quotes around it because I’ve been working on what I’ve been calling “final edits” since like January…the edits are never final. Ever.)

Once the “final edits” are done, it’ll be off to the proofreader and maybe another couple betas…and then….then, I need to publish it.

Just do it already.

But, I’m scared. I’m afraid of failure. It’s your garden variety usual type of fear: What if nobody likes it? What if nobody reads it or buys it? What if people tell their friends not to buy it because it suuuccckks. (And, not in the good, vampirey way.)

What. If.

I’m feeling insecure. And that’s a hard thing to admit.

A friend posted a meme today that spoke to me. It said, “You didn’t come this far to only come this far.” It’s true. I’ve worked hard. The last hurdle really isn’t even a hurdle. I have a plan. I know what needs to be done…I just need to do it.

Deep breath.

Here we go.

Eye-Catching?

So, I got these headshots done last week. Whattaya think?

Would you buy a vampire book from this lady?

KMS Business Landscape HS 3 18

What about from this lady?

KMS Creative Landscape HS 3 18

Feel free to sound off in the comments (maybe I shouldn’t say that…but hey, what’s the worst that could happen? /slowblink/ )

 

 

A Sign.

One person’s trash is another person’s treasure:

I couldn’t believe my luck. I opened facebook, as you do, and happened upon a post in a neighborhood page. It didn’t have anything to do with anything I was interested in, but for some reason, I clicked on it, then kept scrolling through that page.

Three posts down, my heart skipped a beat. My palms got a little sweaty. I felt warm all over. The post read something like, “FREE – 10 Anne Rice books.” There was a picture.

AR Books
I took this picture once I got them home and had a chance to take a good look at them.

There they were. In all their hardbound glory. My eyes searched the post. How long ago had it been posted? Had anyone liked it yet? Were there any comments? Did it really say FREE? I checked over and over; all of this took only a few seconds, but it felt longer.

I replied, as quickly as my fingers could fly across the keyboard, “Are these still available? If so, I would like them, please.”

<Keep your cool, Kristy. Don’t freak out. Breathe.>

I distracted myself by scrolling through my newsfeed, pretending to be completely disinterested in the result of my reply.

Totally. Not. Interested.

Ten minutes later, I heard the little “bleep-boop” indicating I had a message waiting for me in messenger. It’s cool. No big deal. They’re probably already gone anyway.

“I’ll leave them in a box on my porch, what time would like to come get them?”

<OMG> <pause> <pause> <pause>

“Um, I’ll be by later this afternoon.”

<That was totally chill, well done.>

*

A dozen books. By one of the greats. By someone whose writing started it all for me.

Anne Rice. The Vampire Chronicles. Those books are my inspiration. They fed my soul when I was younger, and I can’t wait to dive back into them now.

This must be some sort of sign. Right?

 

PS. Thanks, Anne.

 

Adventures in Administration

 

Writing is glamorous. Right? Especially if you write fiction. You get to create characters – whole people, whole groups of people, whose identities and actions come to life simply because you decided they should. You can create an amazing swashbuckling undead pirate zombie who has risen from the dead to save the only thing he ever loved: his reputation. Or, you can fathom a distressed orphan found and raised by a group of lonely housewives, unbeknownst to their husbands and families, who grows up to be a serial killer, because, really, who needs that many mothers?

Writing is Glamorous.

It’s great to have that kind of control.

Self-publishing is somewhat less glamorous. You retain control over most aspects of your book’s creation, from having input on the cover design to the channels you’ll use to market and sell it, to setting the price and even running sales. But now that you’ve written the book, you need to think about it, and analyze it, and make it interesting to people who are willing to pay you money for it. Which, really, is still kind of awesome.

But, now, excel spreadsheets are involved.

Writing is Glamorous. (1)

I love excel, don’t get me wrong. I mean, I’ll gladly put information into little cells and play with it for hours, but it just doesn’t have that same sense of awe and wonder that comes with the actual writing of a story.

And, that’s where I’m at this week. Making spreadsheets and analyzing data.

Glamorous.

 

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