The time is getting closer. The not-quite-designated-yet-still-rather-solidified day is becoming of the not-so, far out horizon. But there’s still much to do.
Editing for my book has been going on since the middle of December. From word changes to entire deletions of passages, from re-writes to reverse edits to fact checking; all is taking toll as my manuscript has been again and again stroked and attacked by the ink of a correction pen. I’m somehow able to squeeze time to work on this, what with the masses amount of schoolwork I’ve been so-called “graced” with this quarter.
And when I’m not writing, I’m reading. I read a lot, just to keep my own words fresh, and the ability to conjure up content just as flexibly as before. There are those who write as a result of reading (I being an example of such), but you can’t write without reading; blogs, articles, books, etc. It just does not happen like that. Current read: The Elephant Vanishes by Haruki Murakami.
And when I’m not reading, I’m planning. I plan accordingly when to announce what; when the title will be revealed, when to launch an author’s page on Facebook, whether or not to reveal the cover art ahead of time, how to go about with the actual self publishing process of my choosing, and of course, when the release date will actually be. With plans bring realities; realities that are designated to happen. It’s all the more reassuring to me, as it is slightly terrifying. It’s like sending encrypted messages to myself again and again that this is happening.
And when I’m not planning, I’m promoting my own existence in anyway I can. This blog, of course, attributes as one of them. Another being the Instagram account I’ve had since July of last year. It’s all in the matter of going from an unknown writer to one with some visibility. This week and last, I’ve even read excerpts from the book at the Fiction Reduxes my school has been doing as of lately and based upon the little that I’ve heard, the people who were in attendance of these readings seem to be liking what I’ve written.
And when I’m not promoting, I’m writing. Not re-writes for the book, but other stuff. I write poetry. I write in my journal. I write essays, monologues, little snippets of what could be something bigger later on. It’s another way of keeping my writing fresh, of writing for myself, and of preparing for the future. There will be a life after this book goes live, and when it does, then I better be ready to write more. Even if the book is a total flop, I’m still going to write. It’s something that I will never be able to stop.
It’s all big talk with a few months remaining. I pace myself the best I can while still battling with opening myself up more; to let others know that, “You know what? I’m not going to be selfish anymore! I have this book in me that I’m going to share with those who care to indulge themselves into.” It’s a confidence thing; a ladder to something bigger.
In all this that I’m doing for the book, I think the biggest thing of all is that I’m continuously learning. I’m learning what it takes to create a master-minded craft such as a book and then showcase it- and yourself as the author- for the world. There are some things that ought to be learned outside the classroom setting, and speaking as an impending indie author, this is one of those things. I’m too stubborn to go for the big boys at the publishing houses (you can blame my Portuguese roots for that). With this route, where freedom isn’t just false advertising, I wouldn’t have it any other way.