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Dude, where’s my novel?

I have recently finished my first novel.

Or, I thought I did.

After paying someone to proofread it, and sending it out to several beta readers, I paid someone to format it into .mobi and stuck it on Kindle. I was extremely excited; it was my first novel (aside from the romance novel I wrote when I was 15, but more on that later).

However, there are a few things that I’ve found within the last week or two. The thing is, I’m not happy with my finished product. It doesn’t feel, well, finished. There are adjustments I want to make. I think I rushed it to print, because I have other ideas that I want to work on.

So, I’m going to take it down, re-write it on Scrivener (a newly-discovered program I just downloaded today) and then go through the entire process again, until it feels right. I’m not looking forward to it, because now I feel like it’s not the big accomplishment I thought it was. But, provided I finish it, then I can have that whole moment of celebration again, and then finally move on to my other projects.

If you happen to have read the book (i.e., Mom) then I’ll explain what I think I need to do: I need to create more negative traits in one of the main characters so that it displays a greater change by the end of the book. I also need to elaborate on one of the other characters whose story just kind of appears towards the end of the book.

So, I am nearly at the end of this blog (which I have only started because I read it was imperative to my marketing strategy). It’s all new to me (blogging) and I feel like I am writing to no one, so it feels strange. Eventually I would love to move on to meatier topics such as the creative process and what I enjoy writing about, because I’d like this blog to be about my writing life.

To be honest, said life is very isolating. I feel the need to meet other writers, who can appreciate the neurosis of putting your best effort into something and worrying wildly about how it will be received, and then feeling completely deflated when someone says “it was nice.” That’s why I always say that my ego, when it comes to writing, is a “fragile little boat”. It’s waiting around for someone to swim out to it and climb aboard.