Just lately as I revise upon revision in the hope that my third novel, a stand-alone story, will be called in by mainstream publishers post assessment, I have been musing on the last eighteen months in which I had the experience of POD publication.
Once I wrote a first draft for a story. Then I revised it and it became a second draft. Then I revised it again and it became the third draft at which point I sent it to a consultancy for a report and it came back and I revised it again. Sent it back, further revisions. Then came the invitation to send the all-important first 50 pages with a view to it being called in. Sent it. More tiny revisions. Each time it’s like trying to find specs of dandruff on white velvet!!!
This piece was written by a very close friend of mine, Michael Keane, as an offering for The Masked Ball. It’s a beautifully haunting piece of lyrical writing and I’m so thrilled that Mike is in talks with Macmillan to publish his mother’s memoirs entitled Views from the Balcony. It is Catherine Duncan’s vibrant observations on her long life living in Paris until her death recently. Obviously the ability to express thoughts in the most elegant way is a gene that has been passed down and I am sure you will all be enticed by this piece below. To see similar lyricism, go to: http://thevelv.blogspot.com/
What a day! Launched the book trailer and wanted desperately to open champagne with friends to celebrate, so have been having a virtual celebration on Facebook. And that’s actually stirling practice for the Ball. Writing, ie editing, hasn’t featured greatly today and I’m ashamed of my lack of discipline and needing to run far from such shame, I sped over to my blogroll and had an enjoyable read. There is a wonderful piece of writing that deserves to have heaps of coverage and if you want to be taken far from the melting snows and chill of a Northern hemisphere winter, do read this piece from Provence . . . guaranteed to warm your toes.
When my first book was released in December of 2008, I had a vague idea that as a complete unknown I would be responsible for a large proportion of my own widening profile. I had no idea that in 12 months it would have covered such a lengthy ride over a vast techno-landscape.
Some days are meant to be good.
Woke this morning with a blooded eye, wondering why I chose to punch myself in my sleep. This later developed to a migraine . . . I have no pain, no nausea, just visual disturbance . . . split images, venetian blind effects, sometimes barely any vision at all. But half an hour later, with some treatment, it was all gone and I was able to sit at the computer and read emails, blogs and even do some writing. The blogs, chiefly Nathan Bransford’s (www.nathanbransford.com) of the last three days were damned good reading giving a succinct rundown of the most recent Amazon/Macmillan problems, also a fabulous blog on the future of the e-book, digital publishing and self-publishing which I found fascinating, especially the comments from readers. I experienced some sort of vindication for flying with the independent YWO.com with my first two novels. Mr. Bransford implied that those outside the maintream, who have had to pedal harder under water (my words), may, together with a knock your socks off ms, have the edge in this e-book battle and may indeed make an impression with the mainstream publishers. I really loved this because an agent last year basically called me out over my decision to POD with YWO.com My confidence took a hell of a hiding, despite the fact that the year has been exciting, inspiring, full of growth in both writing and marketing.
I have been sitting thinking today, working through the next phase of the WIP, trying to picture just what I want to happen. I have an outline you see, a storyboard if you will and I tend to brainstorm at the end of a writing spell, write things down in pen, maybe a para, maybe only a word, but it helps me to move on more fluidly the next day. So I was having one of those moments and my husband disturbed me (with a glass of wine) and I told him that I had an image in my mind for tomorrow. I then realised that the idea that I had written two extra chapters way back before I had to leave it all on Nov 20 and which I thought I had lost, was indeed a figment of my imagination. To be sure I had thought them up, I just hadn’t written key words or paras anywhere. In my head the two lost chapters were there as a faint image, they just weren’t on the computer. Does that make sense? As my husband said, I forgot to press the metaphorical ‘save’ at the time.