For your listening pleasure …

I am in detox. To tell you the truth, it’s not going so well.

The detox is from my book, which is what “they” say to do – they being the ones who write books that tell people like me what I should do when I write my first novel. I’ve read several of these “From Blank Page to NYT Bestseller” books. I am pretty sure they were all bestsellers.

My main takeaway from all my reading is I have been doing it all wrong. First – and this is at the blank page stage – they say, write, keep writing, don’t stop to edit, just write, write, write. Sadly, my brain doesn’t work that way. It’s in my blood to edit. So that was the first wrong thing. Far too much editing far too early in the game. The second thing they say is to keep the book to 100,000 words, definitely no more than 110,000. Mine is 221,000. Houston, we’ve got a problem.

I broke the latest rule yesterday. The pros say that once you’ve finished the first draft, put the book aside for a good chunk of time. Take a break and come back fresh. I settled on a six-week hiatus. I made it to six days. It’s like an addiction.

Or maybe a rut. The day after I finished the first draft (Day One of the six-week hiatus), I came home from my walk and looked at the chair I sit in to write and said, “Now, what do I do?”

It turns out plenty.

Not least of which was listening to more music. Just a little taste …

p.s. Be sure to sign up to follow me in order to get my weekly missives, arriving in your inbox every Monday morning.

Cue Rocky Balboa at the top of the steps: Look ma, I did it. I really did it. Ma? Ma? You listening?

But I digress.

Call this my pat-on-the-back post. Be-ee-cause … drum roll …

I FINISHED WRITING MY BOOK!

Apologies for yelling, but that’s me up on the rooftop, shouting it to the world.

I began writing the book seven years ago. This is not my “Astral Weeks Live” book over to the right of your screen; I’m talking about my new book that I have been slaving over for seven years. Seven years, nine months and twelve days, to be exact. But who’s counting? Seven years is a long time. When I started writing the book, gas was $1.97 a gallon. Now I’m lucky if I can get it for under $4.

The story I tell is set in 1848 Ireland. That was the year of revolutions in Europe, the peasants versus the aristocracy, the poor versus the rich. Ireland had its own group of revolutionaries, called Young Ireland, who fought for their country’s independence from England. And that is the story I tell, all 221,000 words of it. Not quite “War and Peace” but getting there.

There was a time early on when I wasn’t sure I would finish it.

I had divided the book into four parts, representing the four seasons. Part 1 is spring, and that’s where I started. Four years later, I finally finished part 1. Even I can do the math on that. Four years times four parts equals sixteen years.

Sixteen years to write a book? Not to put too fine a point on it, but I’d be lucky to be alive in 16 years. It became my overarching goal: Finish the book before I die.

Ma, I did it! And it only took me seven years.

p.s. Go ahead and sign up to receive future posts from me. Now that I am back in the land of the living, I am hoping to post at least once a week. It won’t be all book talk, but there will be plenty of that I am sure. Fortunately, I have other interests that I just love to talk about.