I’m doing it.
I’ve got a written plan. I’ve got a budget set. I’ve read the blogs. I’ve sent that voice in my head that says self publishing isn’t real publishing to a deep part of my unconscious where it will stay out of the way and not bother me for at least a year or so.
It’s been over fifteen years since I sat down to write the opening words of The Skeptic. In that time frame I started a career, tried to quit that career by going back to school again, moved across the country, went back to the original career and being way more successful at it than I intended (which took up all of my writing time), got married, had two kids, welcomed two dogs and a cat, lost a dog and a cat to old age completely rewrote The Skeptic (aside from maybe the first three chapter), wrote a whole second (unrelated) novel, and generally busied myself with tabletop games when possible. I look back at who wrote that novel and barely recognize myself, and then realize that very few other people have read it and have a bit of an existential crisis, when I realize that the version of me that people are going to read either doesn’t exist anymore, or has been replaced, Ship of Thesues style, into a brand new body and mind with the old name hanging around as a tribute.
This is my first of journey of publishing, and from my dayjob life of managing projects, I know it’s going to take twice as long and cost twice as much as I think it will. Maybe, if I’m lucky, you can buy this as a holiday gift for next year. Miracles can happen.
At least I’ll have something to update about.
