594: Is This How It Feels?
Can I call myself a writer yet? I mean, I seriously wrote a book, didn't I? I still can't believe it... I finally finished the motherfucker. (And I can tell you with 100% certainty I'm not gonna swallow my words this time either... major rewrites are done. Any comments I get, well, that's final touches level, as far as I'm concerned...)
So I'm now in what matociquala calls post-book ennui. But it's more like the opposite of ennui, for me, actually: I've never felt more inspired or bursting with ideas... and more mentally incapable to writing them. Seriously, one part of me is dying to write all this shit now that I'm on a roll; the other is sick to death of spitting out words aboot itself.
So, I'm taking breakage. And using this time, instead, to do some research--'cause the next, and intimidating and maybe even harder, part of writership is upon me: how the fuck to get this thing published. I'm not deluded; this will prolly take a while. I will update you upon my travels trying to figure this out... (I smell yet another Zyzzyva rejection coming on...lol).
Meanwhile, other activities to keep me busy are in the works, but I am feeling mysterious and shall make y'all wait for that... if anyone's even reading this, lol. Sorry aboot the whininess on this point of my last post; sometimes I just feel like I've lost all my readers on here and I'm not the kinda writer who gets off on writing to myself (that's why I could never keep a diary). I want people to *read* what I write, essentially... which is why doing newspaper work was always so intresting... had tribulations galore, but a great experience in that realm, nonetheless.
(Oh, and if anyone I haven't sent it to yet wants to see the book, don't hesitate to ask...;))
So I'm now in what matociquala calls post-book ennui. But it's more like the opposite of ennui, for me, actually: I've never felt more inspired or bursting with ideas... and more mentally incapable to writing them. Seriously, one part of me is dying to write all this shit now that I'm on a roll; the other is sick to death of spitting out words aboot itself.
So, I'm taking breakage. And using this time, instead, to do some research--'cause the next, and intimidating and maybe even harder, part of writership is upon me: how the fuck to get this thing published. I'm not deluded; this will prolly take a while. I will update you upon my travels trying to figure this out... (I smell yet another Zyzzyva rejection coming on...lol).
Meanwhile, other activities to keep me busy are in the works, but I am feeling mysterious and shall make y'all wait for that... if anyone's even reading this, lol. Sorry aboot the whininess on this point of my last post; sometimes I just feel like I've lost all my readers on here and I'm not the kinda writer who gets off on writing to myself (that's why I could never keep a diary). I want people to *read* what I write, essentially... which is why doing newspaper work was always so intresting... had tribulations galore, but a great experience in that realm, nonetheless.
(Oh, and if anyone I haven't sent it to yet wants to see the book, don't hesitate to ask...;))