The second and beyond

Yes, I’m writing the second book in the Sugarpuff trilogy. Scratch that. It’s written, and I’m deep in the editing process. And when I need a break from that, I’m laying out the sequence for book 3. I’m using some new software that I’m quite excited about, but I’ll have to talk more about that in a subsequent post.

This post is just a musing about where I’m at. Editing one, writing another and looking wistfully forward to my sabbatical next semester. It’s not that I don’t enjoy teaching. I do. But I find it challenging with all these thoughts in my head. It’s hard to find time to get them all out. It will be the semester of my dreams with full days to dream and do. When I can dream without hindrance. When I can do without roadblocks.

And that brings me to a new development; I’m working on a new series. I’ve got a lot of planning to do over the next month and a half if I’m going to hit the ground running in January. I’ll have to develop it in parallel with Sugarpuff book 3, but I think that feels like the easiest to manage distraction I’ve ever encountered. Two books is a breeze compared to a full semester of teaching and writing in the slivers of interim.

I’m optimistic and elated. More details forthcoming!

Jesse

Post Publishing Malaise

I’m no stranger to the post-success malaise. As a performing artist, I have experienced the thrill of a show, the rapture of performance, the joy of audience connection, and the elation of body chemistry—neurotransmitters, adrenaline, endorphins, oxytocin—only to wake up the next day and find myself in a slump.

It’s happened before, so it should be no surprise that it’s happening now, right after such a big event for me, except it’s different this time. If I keep the show metaphor going, I feel like all the planning and prep was done, all the practice, all the effort, even a dress rehearsal, and then, fast forward to the post show slump. I had all parts of the show, but not the show itself.

Planning, writing, editing all feel like practice for the show. Having the launch might be analogous to a dress rehearsal. But the real show is supposed to be your book in the hands of thousands of audience members. And there is supposed to be a moment of basking in the afterglow of a story well told—a story shared. It was great to have such a strong opening day. Lots of sales and many enthusiastic friends, but now I’m in the malaise of marketing, pressing, begging: Come and read my book!. It’s good. Experience this story with me!

If an artist paints a painting in the woods and no one is there to see it, is it still art?

Well, the answer is simple: It is still art. And just as valid. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.

For now, the march must go on. I will steep myself in marketing misery and keep refreshing my browser and waiting for the curtains to open.

Sugarpuff is done!

Anyone who has ever attempted anything is well acquainted with the old adage that the work is never done. Well, for me, the work is done in some context because I finally published! That never-ending corner I referred to in an earlier post has finally been turned and I am proud to announce that my first novel, Sugarpuff and the Land Beneath the Cake has been published. You can find it on Amazon now!

I have more to muse on I suppose. For now the real work of marketing and promotion has begun, and, of course, finishing book 2. I am pleased to say that the novel has been written and had at least one alpha reader and is now in the refining stage.

So, is the work done? Yes. And no. But at least one-stage of the work has made it out into the wide world. Check it out!

Querying agents

Oh, querying. How exciting, how terrifying! I’m going to apologize in advance for this meandering metaphor, which is broken at best and is likely ill-equipped to bear my legion of thoughts on the subject.

To quote myself on twitter:

I used to think of publishing as “turning a corner” in the development process. And it kind-of is. But that corner is no right-angled intersection! It folds in on itself, wrinkling into interdimensional space. Space upon space into infinity.

In truth, I tried querying once, but it was before I had polished the work and I gave up after a few rejections. But now, I have more confidence in my work and my ability to sell it. Not presumptive confidence per se, but I do believe in my work.

I think of querying as entering a quantum state in which the future fractions into quantum potentials, only eventually collapsing when an acceptance letter turns into a contract, turns into a physical book in my hands. I can weather a bit of fifth-dimensional uncertainty, but a small part of me, the part that is tied to time, feels the sting of that cloud of unmet potential.

Mortal beings don’t fare well in quantum bubbles—especially after escaping the endless bubble of conception-to-creation. When the work is done, you just want it to be done. I love creating with every cell in my body, but selling is the part I wish I could skip. But I can’t because what is art if not for exhibition? And so, into the bubble I go—I’ll see you on the other side of the tesseract.