Wednesday, January 25, 2012

I’m Joining the Movement!

I’ve decided to join the movement – to self-publish! While I thoroughly enjoyed having two books "traditionally" published and hope to walk that path again, the idea of self-publishing a collection of short stories is rather exciting.

It’s been over a decade since I submitted one of the stories to a few magazines, only to learn there was no interest in my anthropomorphic blackbird. But as I looked over my somewhat dusty drafts I also found flaws in the writing, which further explains the rejections. So there’s editing in my immediate future along with additional research on which service to use. Amazon? Smashwords? Lulu? Do I want an ebook and hard copies or just an ebook? What about the title? Do I really like Tail Winds or should it be Trail Winds? Decisions, decisions, decisions! All good. All fun.

Speaking of fun, as you can see I’ve already developed the first draft of my cover, though it needs more work. Now that was a blast! No fretting over what the publisher or cover artist might want, just me and Photoshop in the dark of the night. Heh!

I’m joining the movement! Are you?

~ Folio

Friday, January 6, 2012


One ornament broke this year. Maybe a record. A snowman left without a head. It makes for a good picture and a great symbol of the pain-after-Christmas blues and one of the worst realizations that comes during my edits. For me, tearing down Christmas (or the remnants of the celebration) is like pulling out a beloved chapter from my book after so many drafts. I’ve realized those lovely twenty pages are not necessary to the plotline.

Christmas season is when the chapter emerges and grows, takes better shape and gets cut and paste into the rest of the book. The ornaments added, friends seen after a long time. I love it. It's pretty. It's festive and brilliant.

But Christmas is crazy. Too busy. So many emotions associated with soldered memories. Rushing about getting ready for parties: cleaning, cooking, and decorating. Essentially it is the equivalent of writing the book. And when it's all over, the worst part comes: tearing it all down and stuffing it under the crawl space. For the book, editing and letting it simmer.

But the infatuation with the words, like the Christmas decor, must go. It crowds the living room. It crowds and waters down the book. It must go. Snip snip, into the dump folder.

What does removing a precious chapter from your work-in-progress feel like to you?