Making time to write when you’re going to school, being a daddy-o, and living up to the title of Best Husband in the Northern Hemisphere is not easy peasy lemon squeezy. But I do it — in the twenty minutes before a class, the half hour before bed, and while I’m waiting at the doctor’s office. I seriously bring my laptop every damn where.
And it’s paid off.
After a few years of busting my hump whenever I could I finally have a couple of projects worth a crap. I finished a first draft of one book — it actually sucks but that’s normal for my first drafts — and I’m pretty darn close to wrapping up with rewriting my first YA book. The YA book is the one I’m stoked on, mostly because after reading big portions of it I kinda like it.
So the downside: the book is a teensy bit on the long side. As in 120,000 words sort of long. I don’t know if that’s too long to get the damn thing picked up and agent, but I don’t really care, mostly because I have been thinking a lot about this whole self-publishing game. I mean, I really really really like the idea of getting picked up by a publishing house, but I’ve been starting to ask myself why I care so much. The answer, at least the most honest answer, is that I feel like getting published traditionally would legitimize me as a writer. The thing is, that’s a bunch of bullspit. What I really want is for people to read my writing and like it. If that happens then it really doesn’t matter if it happens traditionally or not.