And that's not perfectly true. Having a book to finish and edit has been a major reason for the sheer neglect of this blog in recent weeks, but not not the only one. Desperately needing to get out of the house and breathe fresh air, enjoy sunshine, birds, flowers ... all of this was at least as, uh, inspirational when it came to setting blogging onto the back burner.
The good news is that Dark Is the Valley is actually done, and I'm currently performing the final line edits. Anything that changes in the book from here on will be at the behest of a publisher, and after I've signed a contract -- which I realize is an enormous thing to say, given that the world is still unraveling with the pandemic, a situation which is unlikely to change anytime soon.
How will the pandemic affect publishing? I honestly have no idea, but I suspect the business all begins at grassroots, with readers, many of whom will be saving their money for leaner times ahead. Will they be buying books in great numbers? Possibly not -- and not when you can read a friend's copy, borrow it from the library, or pick up good books for $2 at the Op Shop. What will this do to the publishing industry? I suspect publishers won't be eager to take major chances on unknown writers, while literary agents will be charged with the gate-keeper's role, made responsible for holding the wannabe professional writers out of the picture. I understand this; I see how it works, and why this must be so.
But dang, it's a bitter pill to swallow. If I were twenty years younger, and had near-limitless time to spend just waiting for the global economy to shore itself back up and return to normal, it wouldn't be so difficult to deal with that's happened, and what's going to happen in the world.
Back in 2008, I had a career coming together nicely, and it was sunk without trace by the GFC. It never recovered. Fast forward 12 years, and just as I'm ready to go to market with a number of pretty darned good books (Dark Is the Valley, The Hesperides, The Sea Witch, Petshop Dragons...), suddenly there isn't a market to be addressed. It's as if ... I'm not actually supposed to succeed as a writer: Dame Fortune has something else in store for me.
That's fine, too, but Dame Fortune is going to have to hurry up with whatever she intends, LOL, because time is no longer on my side. So...
...so I'll do what I can, and write the books; but what happens next is an enormous question mark. In the meantime, South Australia remains covid-free, and people are back at work, traveling within the state, enjoying cafes and restaurants. This state, in and of itself, is a peaceful, safe microcosm, and I'm sure there are places in the world that look upon us with a touch of envy. I remind myself, I have nothing to complain about, and that impossible things happen every day. If I can produce something unusual enough, something with the potential, I might still be able to get out there and be read.
That's my goal, and two things make it iffy. The first is that I'm not as young as I used to be, and success in this business is a long, hard road even if one is. The second is that my healthy is bloody awful. I'm living with far too much pain, which is slowing down the creative process. How are you supposed to concentrate on writing and editing, when you're full of pills, with blurry vision, and you still have a headache? When your spine is shrieking, and your feet don't want to be walked on. Every day is a challenge. So far I've met the challenge, but I also admit to myself, I'm extremely tired. Fatigue is a constant companion, which is another reason this blog has been neglected.
There's only so much energy I have to budget with in a day, and when it's gone, it's gone. I have to prioritize things. Writing and editing would come first if I were on a contract, but since I'm not keeping a clean, tidy, happy house comes first. Then writing and editing. Then keeping myself moving with walks, photography, excursions, all the healthy things that keep you same. Then blogging. If there's any energy and brain cells left.
If I were the praying kind of person, I'd pray to be out of pain, because when one is more or less crippled, one is perilously close to being a passenger. On bad days, this is exactly what I am -- and I've had four consecutive bad days ("passenger days"), which tends to change the way one looks at the world, and the future. If being out of pain is impossible, then I must find some way to deal with pain, transcend pain. This is where we cross over into a realm of magic and miracle. The fact is, though I write fantasy fiction, I've never seen any evidence of magic and miracle actually happening. Yet.
Of course, I'm entirely ready to be convinced otherwise! Dame Fortune -- over to you, darling!
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