"Qui peut di ce que sera demain?"
Jan. 3rd, 2004 05:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeChuffa chuffa chuffa. The train towards professional writing is gathering speed, or at least momentum. Not to say there have been any new developments, but my state of mind is rapidly changing towards one where I think I might actually be able to do this. This is in no small part due to my aunt and mother encouraging me.
I got an e-mail today... two e-mails, actually, from both Mom and Auntie B. The one was pretty much a large stream-of-thought ramble wherein she tried to find Aunt E's e-mail address, the other was more encouragement, some advice, and some recommendations. I'd replied earlier and told her that if she wanted I would send her the revised first three chapters of Different; she replied and said yes, she would, although she'd read the original first because she was really starting to like and wonder what would happen to Cowboy.
HAH! And I didn't think he'd be her type, being a flagrant irresponsible musician sort, but wow! I love it; I know how picky she is about what she writes, and I love that she seems to genuinely like what I write. Especially since I know it's not her cuppa. So now I have her recommendation to her writer friend, probably Aunt E's and the Elf's recommendation to their writer friend, and there was one more on that list but I can't remember who. Oh! Grandpa's girlfriend's friends in the publishing industry. Yay is for having contacts!
I can't believe I'm actually doing this. I can't believe I've found the courage of my convictions, screwed my courage to the sticking place. I can't believe I'm gathering up my babies and pitching them out into the void with a knapsack and a prayer. So long, my darling Cowboy, so long Sophie, don't forget your clean socks, your stamps, and here's hoping you don't get mutilated by...
But I'm doing this. I've found it, and I'm doing it. And it seems to be working. I won't know for weeks, perhaps for months, but it seems to actually be coming to something resembling fruition. Aunt B, who's been trying to be published for so much longer than I have, says she thinks I can do it. My grandfather paid me a high compliment indirectly at a luncheon before I left; he said that when I switch to writing full time I could have the use of one of the family retreat houses, the beach or the mountains, and hole up there for a month or two and write. Not if, mind you, but when. And that only from reading bits and pieces of my novels as he printed them out.
Tomorrow, I think, is going to be spent finishing up the paper edit of Different and working on the first rewrite. And then I have to at least come up with some semblance of 'the first three chapters', or just send a certain amount to everyone and see what they think, if they'll pass it on. And I've no idea what happens after that, except that I want to get in contact with the two writer friends and find out what they're willing to read/do, see how they can help.
It's finally happening. And somehow I don't feel quite as energized as I thought I would, I feel calm. Euphoric, ecstatic, and calm.
Qui peut dit ce que sera demain?
I got an e-mail today... two e-mails, actually, from both Mom and Auntie B. The one was pretty much a large stream-of-thought ramble wherein she tried to find Aunt E's e-mail address, the other was more encouragement, some advice, and some recommendations. I'd replied earlier and told her that if she wanted I would send her the revised first three chapters of Different; she replied and said yes, she would, although she'd read the original first because she was really starting to like and wonder what would happen to Cowboy.
HAH! And I didn't think he'd be her type, being a flagrant irresponsible musician sort, but wow! I love it; I know how picky she is about what she writes, and I love that she seems to genuinely like what I write. Especially since I know it's not her cuppa. So now I have her recommendation to her writer friend, probably Aunt E's and the Elf's recommendation to their writer friend, and there was one more on that list but I can't remember who. Oh! Grandpa's girlfriend's friends in the publishing industry. Yay is for having contacts!
I can't believe I'm actually doing this. I can't believe I've found the courage of my convictions, screwed my courage to the sticking place. I can't believe I'm gathering up my babies and pitching them out into the void with a knapsack and a prayer. So long, my darling Cowboy, so long Sophie, don't forget your clean socks, your stamps, and here's hoping you don't get mutilated by...
But I'm doing this. I've found it, and I'm doing it. And it seems to be working. I won't know for weeks, perhaps for months, but it seems to actually be coming to something resembling fruition. Aunt B, who's been trying to be published for so much longer than I have, says she thinks I can do it. My grandfather paid me a high compliment indirectly at a luncheon before I left; he said that when I switch to writing full time I could have the use of one of the family retreat houses, the beach or the mountains, and hole up there for a month or two and write. Not if, mind you, but when. And that only from reading bits and pieces of my novels as he printed them out.
Tomorrow, I think, is going to be spent finishing up the paper edit of Different and working on the first rewrite. And then I have to at least come up with some semblance of 'the first three chapters', or just send a certain amount to everyone and see what they think, if they'll pass it on. And I've no idea what happens after that, except that I want to get in contact with the two writer friends and find out what they're willing to read/do, see how they can help.
It's finally happening. And somehow I don't feel quite as energized as I thought I would, I feel calm. Euphoric, ecstatic, and calm.
Qui peut dit ce que sera demain?
