Its been nine months since my last blog post. Is this what happens to new writers trying to juggle their real-life with this dream of becoming an author? I don’t know if it’s that common or just my road. The pandemic created this pocket of time for me, I would otherwise be standing for 6.5 hours a day teaching 8th graders. It made me face my unfinished first novel, lying there, waiting patiently for me.
That’s when I reread it and began to pound on it, a fierce editing process. I had done this already, before-when I was ready the last time, I thought. My novel now feels more like a salient toddler, chiseled, and walking on its own. The marketing aspect of launching is terrifying. A method to follow based on those who have gone before. There is more to do with the toddler, a few more trips to the playground, but my novel is tired of waiting. Am I ready for this reveal? The pocket of time nods slowly.
All my best~Penelope