"Stranger Faces" is in a somewhat tiresome editing phase, I am still prevaricating on the cover, and I have accomplished very little the last couple of days on the writing front. Now I see my week of vacation drawing to a close, and I get the sinking feeling I could have made better use of it. Oh, how I long for the life of a real author, to be that person who makes a living from writing. Sometimes, I fantasize about how I would structure my day for writing if I did not have a day job. A balance of "business" with accomplishing the other necessities of life, a chance to indulge in other activities I never seem to have the time for, like exercising or playing the piano. As I look back on the first three days of the week just past, I am disappointed in my performance in that regard. Too much time squandered on unproductive things. Even so, I'd like to believe that the main cause of this is a pent-up need for "me time." Sometimes, you have to occupy the middle space between doing what others want and doing what you want, which is, unfortunately, doing nothing.
Need to get over this hurdle of completing "Stranger Faces." I think I'd feel better if the cover were solid. After that, proofing and editing is somewhat tedious but finite. Or at least as finite as I can make it. For every book that I've published, I've always been able to go back and find something I missed or something I would have changed. Perhaps I should just not look, but sometimes I have to go back and see what I said in an earlier book in a series in the writing of a new one. But once "Stranger Faces" is done, I can move on to my latest novel, working title "Where Power Lies."
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