writing life

Toot Your Horn

WHEW!! Two things done. Interview questions and a conference session proposal.
Lordy-lordy, I’ve written manuscripts with layers of characters and visually intricate love and fight scenes but nothing compares to these two writing tasks. Less than 1,000 words and I feel exhausted.


I hate writing about myself. The whole time all I can hear is my mother saying: You keep going on like that and pretty soon you’ll believe your own shit Miss I’m So Vein.
And I say: But ma! If I don’t write about me, who’s gonna do it? You? You’d just tell them what a pain in the ass I was as a kid, that stuck poopy thing that happened to me when I was a baby and how proud you were when my first book was published… And how embarrassed you were when the second one came out that you refused to read it because a friend said she didn’t like the ending.

That, will not get me selected to speak at a conference. 

Why is it that some of us have a hard time telling the world about our accomplishments? Mine are pretty few, and the ones I do have, once written on paper seem to fade like water on canvas. It’s not like under professional accomplishments I can put, NYT Bestseller and RITA award winner. With those two you could just slap that down and call it good. For me I have to dig. I went to college. Check. Own my own company. Aaallrighty. I’m a two-and-a-half-year self-published author… I can hear the wincing now. Images of crayon drawn covers and unedited copy swim up along with the prejeduices of the ultimate tooting of one’s own horn. Like, self-pubbers think that they have an awesome piece of work despite traditional publishing houses rejecting their manuscripts so they publish it themselves (for the record I never believed in pitching my shit to someone who may or may not like what I wrote, then they may or may not allocate money to it for marketing coverage, and may or may not pay me what it’s worth, when really the one person who matters are my customers. I chose to sell direct, bitches). Originally called vanity press (printing your own shit) some of these stigmas still exist. And since I don’t have a fat wad of dollar bills (yet) proving that my way is best, all I can say is, my first book won an award. Aaaaand hit number eight on Amazon at some point under the genre romance within the sub-genre historical. I didn’t realize how much I loved sub-genres until that moment. Aaaand I push out four-star books, does that count for accomplishments? Creating kickass smut? I hope so, because I put that as an accomplishment.

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