Publishing as an indie author is an ankle-rolling, uphill scramble. Traditional authors can probably expect decent sales when their books are released. An instant boom. And perhaps that’s what I thought would occur when my book was released, though I had my feet firmly planted in reality. No visions of thousands of copies instantly sold here. But as a self-published author, I can expect my work to build an audience over time, rather than grab immediate attention on book store shelves.
I tried to be sensible about this week’s agenda after publication. Put the house in order. The other mommies are judging you. The Normal Nancy in my head prodded. The realist in me snorted. Please. They long ago decided we were too weird for words. Polarizing. People already love us, or they can’t stand us. Normal Nancy conceded.
So, I headed back to my usual writing haunts to see what would happen. And I was astounded to see that the ideas still poured onto the paper, straight out of my head. Thoughts flowed so quickly that I felt more like a medium for plots than their creator. Two young adult book ideas fought for space in my head, including the sequel for Iron Shards. I have toyed with the idea of taking a break from it, writing something else, and coming back to it. But my brain is already full of lines, a title, quotes, and themes. John, Quinn, and Amber are begging me to tell their stories, so I am acquiescing to their strong pleas.
Other ideas were pushed aside, and I forced myself to sit and type this morning. I’ve been enduring the doldrums of formatting and editing for months. There’s so little creation for me in that. I half-worried that the stories wouldn’t flow unbidden once more. What if I only ever write part of that story? When I clearly heard Amber’s ideas in my head, getting a feel for her skin and perspective, I knew that my magic was still there.
At such times, I am reminded of a J.K. Rowling quotation:
“Words are […] our most inexhaustible source of magic.”
And I heartily agree.