I’ve been trying to take my writing seriously for most of the past decade. During that time, I’ve completed, at least to the first draft level, eleven novels ranging in length from 60,000 to 126,000 words, 171 short stories from 100-word flash pieces to a 35,000-word novella.
Over the course of just slightly more than ten years, I have, by my tracking, put more than 3.4 Million words together into sentences as of this afternoon, nearly 2.5 Million of them fiction.
108,000 of those have been accepted for publication by other sources.
Life intervenes frequently, of course. I have a family, including 3 teenagers, a career, a giant dog, several feline overlords, and a lot of responsibilities. Major events have sometimes gotten in the way of things, writing-wise, and you need to deal with what the universe puts in your path.
But I can get the words in when I’m focused. At this point, I feel like I’m at least a decent storyteller, and if my first drafts still tend to be rather rough (though once in a while, I surprise myself), my editing process works well for me and produces a decent final product when the starting product is worthwhile, or so I’m told by non-familial beta readers.
So why am I not publishing? Why am I not at least submitting?
Ah, there’s the question. Why am I not submitting? I can find time to craft the words, but I can’t seem to find time to get them into other people’s hands or to put things together into well-crafted books of my own and go the indie route.
And that, no surprise, is what needs to change.
I’m setting some pretty significant word goals for 2018. Or I was. Those need to be a little lighter to make some time to get my work out there. 2018 needs to not just be filled with words, but with submissions at every level and perhaps an agent hunt, too.
Some planning needs to go into my writing career from here forward.
Be well, everyone.by