I've said before that I developed many of my writing and story-telling skills through the blogs I had for years. One was for recording goofy things the kids did so I wouldn't forget and also so distant family could feel closer to us. The other was about our traveling adventures as a large family, which I started mostly because a friend had a popular one and she asked me (and others) to write about places we visited so she could link to them and thereby expand what her readers could learn about. When I got a publishing contract, I shut down both because I no longer had time for either, but also out of privacy concerns. Neither was meant to bring me fame, especially the first one.
Google recently asked me if I still wanted to be notified when people commented on those blogs (which they couldn't anyway since they were shut down), but I also remembered I had started a 3rd blog there for author stuff before I moved here. I figured it was long past the time to shut that baby down, so I visited...and found some unposted gems.
I now present to you a blog post from June of 2016, with its appropriate title.
All of This Is Really Weird
I just wanted to come out and say that every once in a while I realize I have a book coming out.
Like out of nowhere it kind of hits me.
There are people in New York City who have entire meetings devoted to reading, designing, and marketing my book, and I just kind of go along with my life every day forgetting about it. Then BAM I remember. Usually the urge to puke follows.
Holy Shiite, I wrote a book and it will be a REAL THING. People I don't even know are getting paid to make it a REAL THING. People I don't even know are working on making it a BIG THING.
And I'm really weirded out because until May of 2014 I had no thoughts of writing anything longer than a non-fiction magazine or blog article. I never considered myself a writer, though apparently other people did. (Thanks, Mom!) The authors I know have always been writers. Most wrote a book or two before selling their debut. They worked for years to get published and are finally living their dream, whereas I feel like I just walked into a surprise party.
It all happened in a weird step-by-step process starting two years ago when I looked at 86,000 words I pounded out and said, "Now what?"
Share and get opinions! Edit more!
People like this. This could be an actual book. You need a literary agent! Query!
You totally suck at this. Revise! Start over if you have to!
Okay. OMG people want more!
Awesome. Send all the things.
OMG a literary agent wants to talk!
Don't let her know you talk to yourself.
She says my book is awesome and she wants to make me famous!
Well, sort of. It kind of weirds me out how enthused she is. Doesn't she know we don't know crap about writing?
Sign with her before she changes her mind.
Done. Now she wants to revise the manuscript a little more.
So do it.
She wants to send it to actual publishers now.
Duh. What did you think would happen?
But like, BIG publishers. Doesn't she know we don't know crap about writing?
It's okay. When they reject you they'll give a little advice and you can revise, and then you can move on to submitting to smaller publishers that are willing to take on a spaz like you. Relax. This will take another year at least.
Sounds like a plan... except SuperAgent just called and said one of the BIG PUBLISHERS wants the book.
Wait, what? Don't they know we don't know crap about writing?
I've continued doing everything mechanically, focusing on what I've been told to do: Revise! Edit! Join support groups! Commiserate! Be happy for writers getting book deals and covers and ARCs and book birthdays!
And every few days I realize I am one of those authors.
I will soon be looking at my own cover.
I will soon be holding my own ARC.
One day I will walk into Barnes & Noble and my book will f***ing be on shelves next to books by Tamora Pierce and Sarah J. Maas and Suzanne Collins... well, maybe not next to them. But in the same section.
Excuse me while I go barf.