Friday, October 12, 2012

My Book

*or alcohol

My book is nearing completion.  

It's been one hell of a ride, and I don't know if I would climb aboard again.  

I'm a pretty good writer, but a task-mastering editor.  

I know me.  I will go back and re-read and re-read, and make little changes of commas to semi-colons, and check my online thesaurus, looking for a better word to describe what, for the life of me, won't pop into my head at the moment, even though I know what it is I want to say.

I would not have a clue how to write fiction.  My book, Rich Farmers, is autobiographical.  Even us little people have stories to tell.

I have absolutely no idea how I will be able to afford to publish it.  I thought about Kickstarter, but who, in their right mind, would deign to fund me?  Are there people out there with wads of cash to toss into the air?  If so, how do I get to be one of those people?

I've learned that writing a book isn't like writing a song.  A song, if it's not too good, will take maybe a couple of hours to flesh out.  A good one, one that's worth pursuing, could take a month or so.  I'd gotten used to telling a story, in song, in short bursts.  But a song has a melody to carry it along.  Alas, a book doesn't have a soundtrack.

I started out thinking that I could turn my blog into a book, but then I realized, that's just stupid.  So, I started over, from scratch.  I used a bunch of my posts to goad me along.

I've lost track of the months I've spent on this.  I used to think, writers say they've been writing their book for a year?  How could that be?  I get it now.

And sometimes I think, well, I've spent months worrying over something that I will try to sell for five dollars and ninety-nine cents.  And maybe two people will actually buy it.  I can earn that much in an hour's worth of time on my job, with my eyes closed.

Thing is, even if nobody buys it, or if two people do, I still have pride in knowing that I did it.

I wish I had a bunch of money. Even though I know that would just jade me and make me lazy.

The sensible me says, aim for the money.  The actual me says, follow your heart.

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