All I want from tomorrow, is to get it better than today....
Originally posted on my website, lindseysjohnson.com
I am overdue for an update here. So many things going on, so little time.
The first news for this update is: the book has been delayed. Per Aspera wants to give a few fancy places a chance to review A Ragged Magic (not a guarantee, but one can but try), and since some of our back and forth took up valuable send-it-in time, we have pushed back the release date to October or November, actual date TBD. Meanwhile, I have (with SO MUCH HELP because I AM TERRIBLE AT SYNOPSES OMG) finished the synopsis to send out with blurb copies and such, so that those kind souls who have promised to consider blurbing the book may look over the synopsis first, and see if they’re interested. Eeeeeeek.
It’s an interesting time for me, as a newly almost-published author. There are all sorts of things to do related to the book coming out, that are hard to keep track of. (Well, hard for me, in this not-very-organized current state of mine, due to non-book circumstances that are OUT OF CONTROL, through the fault of a Cruel and Disinterested Universe, Adventure is Some Other Poor Shmuck Having a Terrible Time of it division.) Because the things that need doing aren’t related to the writing of the book, but rather to the publishing of it. Marketing things, that involve asking for blurbs and reviews, or trying to get on panels at conventions, or asking local bookstores to host signing events - none of which I have ever done before, and all of which are nerve-wracking to me. Partly because they are new experiences, and I worry about doing it wrong. (Newsflash - I am someone who always worries about doing it wrong. No one who knows me is surprised.) And partly because these new experiences involve asking for attention from others, some of whom are strangers, and that is not at all my strong suit. Why am I a writer and not, say, a public speaker? Because I get to do most of my craft inside my own head. I like it here. It’s nice. (Where “nice” = “colorful and perhaps crazy, but it’s my crazy and I’m used to it”.) (Shoutout to Was Not Was song ‘I’m in Jail’.)
Regardless of my shy, introverted druthers, I must learn these marketing tricks, and speak with real live people, or at least email them, and ask for the blurbs, and see if I can attend conventions as a pro, and find out what needs to be done to have a reading and signing event at the local bookstores. It’s all very possible - I’ve managed to speak to humans I don’t know before, and live my life like a mother*$%ing adult (shoutout to Hyperbole and a Half). It takes up a lot of my energy, and I’m low on energy to spare these days, but I can schedule my time so that all of this happens. These are on my to-do list for August. My to-do list for August, both as a writer, and for my everyday life, is long and complicated and on the “Oh god WHAT NOW” side of horrifying. So we’ll just have to see how it all goes.
Which brings me to my other news, which is less book-related and more life-related: Scott and I are in the middle of a very stressful move, and I’m behind on just about everything that is related to me getting anything done at all. We have very kind and generous friends who are helping out as they can, and we are so grateful for help and time and effort given by everyone. But that doesn’t negate the realities of our situation, which are, if not deadly dire, at the very least upsetting and stressful and far less than ideal. We are managing, but my coping skills are entirely used up and I am completely out of can. Or even. Or any of those things. So my ambitious plans of blog posts at least once a week and content and funny stories and pictures and stuff, well, that was probably pipe dreams until I can get myself back into some sort of routine. One where I don’t spend most of every day worried and nauseated and frantically searching rental listings and trying to schedule people to do things and getting storage units and having insurance things faxed around and flinging about large sums of money we don’t have and talking to strangers (more of them) and packing endless boxes and wondering why do we have so much crap, anyway, and hoping that someday, we’ll look back on all of this and laugh.
Someday.
In the meantime, I am attending to endless details, trying to remember how to breathe, and percolating my story brain so that when things settle down, I can just let it all out.
Update for the livejournal folks: We have a place to live. Give thanks to the Immortal Whim Indulger of your choice. The insanity is leveling off to an amount that will hopefully stop producing stress-eczema and insomnia.