What a difference a year two years make. Back in late 2014, I had finished my first draft of my first honest-to-goodness, actual and true novel. Handwritten, if you believe such a thing ever existed.
Months before I joined Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers (and if you’re a writer in the Rocky Mountain region and you haven’t looked into them, do yourself and go here: www.rmfw.org) I was convinced I’d be published in 2015.
Yeah, I know. I’m still waiting on that lottery win, too. I never said I was a smart boy.
Still, unlike back in my 20’s (we’re talking the 1990’s now…ugh!) when I walked away from writing because I hadn’t gotten a contact This. Very. Second. I had actually–against my better judgment, mind you–done a little bit of growing up. Just a pinch. I mean, let’s not get crazy here, amirite? So imagine my surprise when January of this year rolled around.
There I was, minding my own business (one could say “walking around with his head up his tookus” because it amounts to the same thing) and working on a story I had intended to submit to the RMFW Anthology collection. I got a decent word count, polished it up, and took it into my critique group.
And that’s when everything changed.
In short, it was a hit. “Too good for Anthology, ” I was told. “This is what you need to be writing now,” they said. I didn’t really believe the first one, but I sure as hell believed the second. I loved writing that story. Every moment of it was the smoothest, easiest writing I’ve ever done. It was FUN, dangnabbit. Writing isn’t supposed to be fun…it’s ART, for cryin’ out loud!
From a short story to a full-blown novella, from conception to published work–all in less than a year. Two years ago I simply wasn’t ready. I didn’t have the game. My kung fu was more like egg foo young. But now? Now I’ve got a website, and social media accounts, and business cards (assuming they ever get here!). I just hired a cover artist, and I finalized a loan that will pay for everything from printing to merchandising.
Within reason, of course. We’re taking T-shirts and bookmarks, posters and bobble heads. Well, not the bobble heads. I mean, they’re cool and all, but who wants that crap cluttering up a shelf?
(Full disclosure: I totally do.)
That’s what patience gets you. That’s what not letting go accomplishes. That’s what pulling your head out of your ass and doing some actual work creates. I’ve written a book. I’ve nurtured it, watered it, fed it, and edited the ever-loving $h!t out of it. And now it’s moving beyond just me. It’s out there, for better or worse. It’s coming, and I hope like hell you’re all interested in tagging along.
This summer, MATRYOSHKA BLUES, the first in the Average Joe series, comes to a market near you, long before stores can even get their Christmas decorations up in time for Halloween.
Follow me as I introduce you to…well, he doesn’t really have a name. I mean, he HAS a name, but he won’t tell me what it is. His best friend Tully knows, but she’s more of a handful than he is. But this regular guy, this average joe–he has this habit, you see. He’s a magnet for trouble. Not like James Bond or major cities during an alien attack. We’re taking real trouble. The kind that comes up quick and strikes fast. The kind that gets you killed. Or worse. The only things our mystery protagonist has on his side are a good friend, her vintage Mustang, his quick wit, and no small measure of ADHD-born swear words.
Want to know more? Buy the book. It’ll be worth it. I promise.
Thanks for your patience. We’ll be with you shortly.