For weeks I’ve been posting in here with a duplicitous spirit. I have been sporadic in my posting, neglecting to offer any real ‘juice’ as to the workings and wonders of our little family life, as near or far as it relates to the next person.
I have been ‘here’ and yet I haven’t. You see, my mind has been focused on other things and I think now I am ready to tell you what’s really going to be happening around here in 2008.
I have finally registered my business name. I have contacted freelance editors, rung printers, haunted illustrator websites, and spent more time at bookshops than I’m sure is humanly allowed; all this to one purpose.
I will publish my children’s story (hopefully) by November.
I’ve danced around the possibility for a while now. I dabbled in self-publishing last year with my family’s brief history book (as some of you may remember) and that was a wonderful trial-by-fire. I am confident in my own abilities on that front and hopeful (dare I say gungho?) about learning the business side…and quickly, at that.
What pushed me to go the next step?
No, the question is ‘Who pushed me to go the next step?’
And that would be my daughter.
My daughter who has begun to sidle up to me to ask, “Can you please read Surprise!, mum?”
And so I pull out the limp few sheets, stapled together, complete with coffee stains and read the bones of the story to her.
“Why hasn’t it got pictures?”
“Because mum can’t draw, sweetie.”
Keira digests this. “Is this why it’s not a proper book yet?”
“That’s right.”
******
Self-publishing is often called a vanity exercise, a means to soothe and buffer one’s creative ego. I’m sure this is often the case; some might question whether this is the case for me.
I say, in rebuttal, that I wouldn’t invest thousands and thousands of dollars into a project I didn’t believe in, right at the core of my heart.
Because I assure you, I bet, I guarantee that when the day comes when I unpack the first volume of the first edition back from the printers, that that pleasure will be nothing in comparison to the pleasure I hope – strongly, fervently hope – it will create in the minds of the children I’ve written it for.
And so, there you have it. My secret is out.
All of this will possibly go to explain why my nails now are in a state beyond comprehension; the quicks are gone, the skin is peeled and mottled.
But that’s okay.
For once.
