Back in February of this year I began writing a story.
It centered around the single idea of what it might be like to be a gambling
savant. From there it began to flourish into something more than a story, and
before I knew it, the thing was off and running. Yesterday morning, six months,
thirty chapters and many plot twists later, I have a completed novel on my
hands. Each chapter has a title, but the overall work does not, and it needs to
be proofed and edited, but the hard part is over.
Although it was a great feeling to finish it, to
resolve the thing, to wrap up some of the loose ends, there was also a tinge of
sadness. When writing a novel you create a small universe, and populate it with
characters of your own design. You endow them with personality, strengths and
weaknesses. You introduce conflict; mitigate that conflict with humor where you
can, but sometimes it feels better to let the conflict run amok. You discover
that your feelings change about your own characters as you’re writing; ones you
were quite fond of at first begin to disappoint you like rebellious children.
Then you turn on them, meting out literary justice. Then, while driving down
the road, or taking a shower, an idea overwhelms you and you suddenly know
exactly what will happen next and you can’t wait to write. But eventually the
ark of the story begins to exhaust itself and it must wind down. You must find
a way to end it. This is the hardest part. There are so many ways you can go.
You write the final chapter a hundred times in your head but none of them feel
right. A week goes
by, then two weeks. Then in a flash of inspiration, it all comes to you while you’re cutting the grass. You sit down at your laptop and in two hours, it’s all over. You’re happy with the result, but sad because the world you have created has come to an end. Your characters become frozen in place like a museum exhibit.
by, then two weeks. Then in a flash of inspiration, it all comes to you while you’re cutting the grass. You sit down at your laptop and in two hours, it’s all over. You’re happy with the result, but sad because the world you have created has come to an end. Your characters become frozen in place like a museum exhibit.
So, now what do I do? For me writing is a hobby, a marvelous
diversion, but not my profession. I don’t know the first thing about getting
anything published. I’ve heard about self-publishing but don’t know enough
about the process. Obviously, I like my work but I have no idea whether it’s
even good enough to publish. Is there a market for a book that features
gambling, dying parents, an ugly divorce, one unsuccessful suicide attempt and
one successful one, adultery, ghosts, a gorgeous redhead, mysterious dreams,
spiritual transformation, the wisdom of Marcus Aurelius, and a dog with
unexplained powers? Guess I’m about to
find out.
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