Some sound thoughts for anyone going the self-published route.
How did it feel writing my first novel?
Well, some days I felt like I was stumbling through a Siberian tundra, frostbitten and starving, with a hundred-pound weight on my back, and Russian oligarchs hunting me for sport. The words wouldn’t come, or if they did they were terrible, as if Satan had intercepted them and twisted them into evil gibberish when they were en route from my muse.
Other days I felt like I was whirling and chirping through the air like a carefree bird. I dropped paragraphs on the page like Zeus hurling thunderbolts. My description was sublime, my analogies leapt off the page like glowing neon signs of literary awesomeness, my dialogue sizzled.
Sound like a familiar experience?
Most authors know what it’s like to plummet from the conquering summit to the valley of despair, or vice versa –sometimes within the same day. Writing is like that…
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