Sploosh is the sound that an electronically-published first novel makes when it hits the vast sea of the wide, wide Web. That sound is followed by glug-glug-glug of words sinking into oblivion, and ends with a little stream of virtual bubbles rising up from the Depths of Disregard.
I wish it weren’t so, but it is. I could spend my days clicking on reports, refreshing pages, waiting for feedback to appear while I tout my book’s worth to all and sundry. I could bore friends, acquaintances, and strangers with endless repetitions of how great my work is, or I could bury myself in my imaginary worlds and dream of new adventures for new characters and old friends.
Creation or relentless self-promotion. No contest.
What a frenetic, frantic, fantastic two weeks I’ve had. I’m sure there are a few more words that start with “F”, but I can’t think of them right now. I don’t have a full complement of brain cells working at the moment. Cold medication is great for unclogging lungs and sinuses but hard on the thinking bits.
In the last two weeks I’ve published two novels, taken on a rotten rhinovirus, traveled two thousand miles, eaten too much food, slept too much and too little by turns, spent too much money and walked two gazillion steps up and down the Las Vegas Strip.
Published. Pummeled by plague. There and Back again. Recuperating. Fun times, except for the disgusting nasal drainage and bronchial hacking cough that I won’t dwell on.
I am grateful for the upbringing that taught me the value of cleaning house before leaving on vacation, because it was a true joy to come home to a clean nest. The joy was only compounded by relief, because the nest was very much needed for hibernation.
Cold medications are among the underrated miracles of the modern world, by the way. They make all the difference between misery and moderate discomfort, between isolation and reasonable caution. I would’ve felt bad about traveling if I’d been shedding virus everywhere, but I was able to keep my germs to myself…unless someone was licking things I touched or collecting my used tissues. (ick)
Every day, I can manage the following: attain vertical status, dress, clean, obtain food, maintain vertical status for a few hours and collapse in exhaustion. These are the victories that matter.
Selling books? That’s just icing on the cake.