For the last week I’ve had absolutely no time at all for my own writing, but I’ve been thinking and planning and considering and wondering and researching and lots of other stuff that goes with it.
If I self-publish my children’s books, the writing part will be the least of my worries. Then there’s editing, proofing, cover design, formatting and marketing and a thousand different aspect of putting a book out there in the world for people to buy that I’ve probably not realized yet.
But the strange thing? I’m kind of looking forward to it.
It’s weird, because the last couple of days I’ve come across a couple of Facebook posts and blog posts that have more or less told me that I don’t have what it takes. I’m usually very quick to surrender when I come across stuff like that.
I’m not sure what it means that I haven’t this time. Does that mean that I’m on the right path, despite what those people wrote? Or have I just gotten more stupid as I’ve grown older?
It’s hard to tell.
This week I’m working hard to finish a translation job, so no writing time until Thursday. But perhaps I should get started on one of my own translations, after that.
Releasing anything in time for Christmas is no longer an option. I don’t want to rush this; I want it to be as good as it can possibly get. That takes time. I don’t believe in perfection, but I think I want this to be as close to that as I can manage. Even if it means that it takes a couple of months longer.
It feels strangely ok, this rushing like a tortoise towards the finish line. Hares passing me every day. That’s fine. Run if you want to.
I’m strolling over here.