My dear mother turned eighty-five last week. You can guess by her age she grew up during the depression. She’s never used a computer, never searched for anything online and is the only person in our family who doesn’t like to read. But she has always supported her family in their reading and now me in my writing.
We didn’t have a local library in the small town where I grew up. We relied on the school for pleasure reading material. When I was a teenager I had an aunt who started sharing her romance novels with my sisters and me. I was introduced to The Hobbit in a ninth grade English class and my love of fantasy was born.
I called my mother to wish her a Happy Birthday and she asked as usual how my writing was going. She always puzzles over where I get my ideas, that infamous unanswerable question. She knew I had some edits to do last week and asked me if I’d finished them. When I explained that I had and was now working on setting up promotion, writing a short story and hoping to get back to the new manuscript I’d put aside to do edits, she became totally confused. I’m not sure I ever realized myself how much of writing is juggling various projects.
When I first started writing, I worked on one manuscript. When I finished and polished it, I started submitting it to agents. While I waited to hear back on my submissions, I took the advice of all my writing buddies and began work on the next book and then the next. Once I sold that first book, I began establishing my ‘web presence’ with social networking and building a website. By that time I was already submitting the second book, and then the third, doing edits on the first, doing promotion, and keeping up with the blogs and all those other promotion gambits.