Mary Newman's Blog - Posts Tagged "editing"

The title says it all for me this past week. I've had my head elsewhere and there has been hardly a word written.

I've been a grandma for several years now, twelve to be exact. I have two more on the way, and I do mean on the way right now. The newest granddaughter will be born sometime tonight or in the morning. And that's exactly where my head is right now - with my youngest daughter as this is her first child. I figured since I had a few minutes I'd get a blog post in and let you all know what's going on with me and why I've been basically incognito for the past week.

I am working on the third and fourth books in The Brethren series. The third book, A Warrior's Strength, (an M/M/M romance) is still in the editing phase and soon to head off to the beta readers. The fourth, and probably final book of the series, His Broken Warrior, (an M/M romance) is currently being written; somewhere around the halfway mark. Both books are in the fantasy romance genre, same as all of my other books.

Happy Monday, everyone, and hope your week is going great!

This week already feels like I'm living in Wonderland with Alice, and it's only Monday. The white rabbit seems to be my close companion and has been yelling "We're late, late, late!" in my ear. Okay, okay, I'm listening and I'm writing my blog post right now!

I've been doing a lot of reading this past week. So many good books have been released I couldn't resist, and my body and mind needed to recharge after being sick. Slowly, the new ideas are coming through and maybe another book is on the horizon?

The latest story is still in edits and I've been chewing my nails and squirming in my seat waiting to find out what she thought. New editor for this book, so the nerves are really showing. I did get back one note that she's liking it, so far, but there were a couple spots where it seemed I rushed. *chews another nail to the quick*

The exciting thing regarding this book, at least for me, is the fact that the very talented Catherine Dair has agreed to do my cover. I'm not embarrassed to admit I happy danced all over the RV when she confirmed. This will be my first professional cover and it's a huge step for me. It kind of makes me feel more like a "real" writer, I guess; more serious about what I do.

At this stage, it's a lot of hurry up and wait, and feeling as if I'm going nowhere. In reality, everything is moving along as it should. I'm shooting for a late February/early March release date and planning a cover reveal as soon as its completed.

It looks like the new year is starting off in a good way.

You would think that a person becomes a writer because they have something they believe the world wants to read. Right? They probably have lots of self-esteem and are very secure in their belief they are writing something of worth. Wrong. That just isn't the way of it. I can only speak for myself, of course, but in communicating with other writers, I've found they, too, are just as surprised and thrilled when someone compliments one of their works, praises them, or spontaneously promotes one of their books.

Writing can be a sometimes vicious cycle. I put my heart and soul into a story, edit and format until I'm sure it's just what I wanted to say, design a cover that I hope looks good, and release it to the rest of the world. Then I sit and figuratively chew my nails to the quick, constantly check the sales, tentatively look at any reviews, and wonder why I even bothered to put a piece of myself out there and subject it to ridicule.

A four or five star rating, with or without a review, can send me into the throes of ecstasy, just as a one star rating can absolutely crush me and make me vow to never write another word. It's like being bipolar on steroids. That may not be a pretty picture, but try living it.

So why would I even bother to write, you ask? Why put myself through that? Aside from the fact I seem to like being a glutton for punishment, I write because I feel the need to share the stories and characters that run through my head. I've tried to ignore that part of myself, refusing to do nothing more than make a few notes or let a story play out in my head. The feeling is horrible; like I'm ignoring a necessary part of me. And, once I've written something, it's just as compelling that I release it and let others read the story.

That's why I write. Because I have to. Because it's no more a choice than breathing. I'm not alone in feeling this way. I read an article where Stephen King related an incident that happened to him. A woman approached him and asked how he could write such horrific things. (I'm paraphrasing here since I don't remember the exact words) Mr. King responded with "What makes you think I have a choice?"

This past week has been up, down, and then some. I honestly wondered if I was going to make it through the darn thing, at times. It didn't start out bad; not really. Just a normal day with nice weather, a message from the artist working on my book cover, and a note from the one doing edits for the book I'm currently working on.

Then hell broke loose and I kind of had a meltdown.

The document sent back on my book edits wouldn't open. When it did finally open, the edits had disappeared - just went out into the ether and never returned. After banging my head on the wall and my keyboard for longer than I care to admit and a huge crying jag that I'm still embarrassed about, I finally pulled myself out of it and started over. Since I didn't actually throw the laptop out the window, I'm calling that a win. Right?

Next, my knee gave out. It's swollen to the point I can't even put a pair of pants on and hurts when I try to stand up. Good thing I live in a 27-foot RV, so there's not too far to go to reach things. I couldn't find my knee brace - probably disappeared into the same place the darn edits did - and the trip to town to get a new one wasn't successful. I had to order one online and I'm still waiting on it to be delivered. In the mean time, the swelling has gone down and Tylenol is my new best friend. No, I didn't go to the doctor for it, by the way. I know what's wrong and I'm not paying to have someone tell me what I already know. I took a tumble down a flight of stairs several years ago and ripped the meniscus in two places. Someday, the knee will probably have to be replaced, but today is not that day.

The final straw was the beautiful spring-like weather that brought forth daffodils, redbud blooms, and birds migrating through suddenly decided to dip into freezing temperatures. What. The. Fuck. This is Oklahoma. It's mid-March. People are planting their gardens. Sorting their fishing lures and pulling the boats out of storage. Digging out their bathing suits, shorts, tank tops and flipflops. Did Mother Nature not get the memo? Who's responsible for not delivering the memo? Someone give her some meds - let me look, I might have a few extras I'm not currently taking.

So, yeah. It was a melt-down, I-hate-my-life, can-I-kill-something-now kind of week.

And then things just kind of came together. No, the weather is still acting wonky, but the weatherman says tomorrow it's going to be back int he 70s. My knee still hurts, but not unbearably, and the brace is on it's way. I muddled my own way through my book to do my own edits and I'm at the point of a final read through. The cover is nearly finished and looks fantastic. All that's left is adding the title, blurb, and such and I'm good to go.

Life seldom gives you the rose-strewn path through the enchanted forest that you walk merrily along singing about love, happiness, and all things sweet and good. Sometimes it tosses a couple of mudslides, a few stones, and a bunch of thorns along the path just for kicks. The thing is, you just have to keep plowing your way through and not let it bury you. That's how life works.