Hither and Thither

I seem to have lost the ability to post pictures correctly. Or maybe to just POST correctly. And tie a knot with a cherry stem, but that’s another matter altogether. My picture of Romeo went POOF! into thin air, as did the pictures of my four-eyed selves in my last post, which, really, is probably not at all that bad a thing. It was a nervous twitch of a post. Me doing a sort of crazy lady dance on the bar as a way to keep myself from posting crazy lady ramblings about my TRUE anxieties. The novel. OF COURSE it’s about the novel. While the average person might feel like April is at the far reaches of the universe, I feel it breathing heavy at the back of my neck like a hungry, deranged animal. Like Kyra five minutes before dinner is served. That glorious month when birds sing their praises to the balmier days of spring, that month when two of my precious babes turn a year older… is also the month that my novel was scheduled to be released for all the wide, wide, painfully-wide world to see. As the clock is ticking loudly in the background of my life indicating that spring is ebbing closer and closer, I have learned that Rosetta Stones may not be there to greet it. MAY not... But also MAY.

I KNOW.

For those that DON’T know, I’m with a small publishing house with limited funds/time/staff etc. And, while my story had promise when they took me under their wing about a year and a half ago, my writing needed plenty of work. Still does, actually. And yet they have been patient with me. JOB patient, if you know what I mean. I still can't believe that, in all this time, they have yet to send me a box filled with Kleenexes, used ones, or sharp instruments and instructions, at the very least, a pile of shredded paper otherwise known as my manuscript. I sing my praises to spring as well as the next bird. But mostly, to Central Avenue Press for their undying commitment to THE CAUSE. Oh, and also to the gods, for not allowing ANYBODY to tell me that it was going to take something like two years to see this thing on a bookshelf. Had some big, cynical meany gone and done that, I might not have had the fortitude to see this through. I had no idea what I was getting into when I stuck my wobbly leg into these cold and daunting publication waters. I never fathomed the pains it would take to get something as unassuming as a young adult novel into a bound conglomeration called a BOOK. The writes and rewrites, the contracting, the reviewing, more rewrites, more reviewing, a few more rewrites for good measure, more reviewing, tears upon tears, and maybe ONE LAST rewrite because, you know, THIS IS IT!!… words. pages. and shards of soul have been scattered and destroyed and puked up and reswallowed and, yes, it’s disgusting and oh so painful. But necessary. I’m dizzy and tired. Impatient and antsy. But, above all, I’m TBAR... Thrilled Beyond All Recognition. That part hasn’t changed, not even a little.

So, okay. If not April, then May. Or June. Or July. SOMETIME. It WILL be published in this lifetime. And I hope that you’re still with me when it happens so we can whoop it up together in true blogger fashion.

WHEW. Lots, lots better now.