The book got sent off to be edited last October, almost a year ago. I got it back, then spent two weeks coming up with a new outline, then more weeks adding and culling and moving around.
Then it was sent to the editor again, this time for a copy edit. It’s back.
I’ve been putting off making the changes. Nothing major, I was going to move 4 sections around. I need to send pieces of it to my siblings so they can say if they hate what I say about them. I don’t expect they will, but, I’d rather ask than get sued or make someone mad.
I need to send it off to people to read I’ve promised the chance.
I have a marketing idea brewing.
After I get it back from the beta readers, then I’ll make those changes, and it goes out to be formatted for epub and POD,and will available to buy on this blog.
Why? Because the book is titled
Teacup of Water:
An Emotional Testimony of
PTSD with SF on the side
so the sales link should be here. My editor, rightly so, got all over me about the SF reference, as most people would say “sci-fi,” except you see that isn’t true in the science fiction world; that’s what people say whose business isn’t science fiction.
Anyway, that’s where I am with the book.
The house is getting (and staying!) clean too.
Yeah, I’m doing both at once. The fallout from that is that I’m having nightmares, for weeks now. I have multiples most nights. I don’t remember them and they don’t normally actually wake me all the way up, just enough so that I know that I’ve done it again. There was one bad one, or one I woke all the way from about my ex-husband that was just weird, as we’ve been divorced for decades! Another night whatever was going on in my head caused me to stiffen my right leg so much it went into spasm —that woke me up! But aside from those two incidents, I haven’t a clue wtf the nightmares are about, just that they occur, nightly. I figure it’s a bleed valve and that’s just fine, obviously I need it.
I was in California for a funeral last month, remembered/was reminded how really messed up some of the people I knew were, and it’s so crowded I doubt I could ever live there again. Made me sort of sorry I’d come from there a bit.
Today I got home and DH said, “Your box is in the kitchen.”
“What box?” I asked.
He said, “You got a box in the mail.”
There was a card and a gift of candied orange peel from one of my oldest friends for no real reason at all, except she loves the stuff, remembered that I did too and bought me some. She is one of the people I didn’t get to see when I was in SoCal, as she only lived there for the short while we lived together, lo many, many years ago.
I was feeling exhausted and worn down when I parked the car. It seemed to be a nonproductive day, but it took an upswing. I got out of the car on the beautiful piece of land where we live, found an affectionate cat, an intelligent and caring man, and a box from someone who knows me well enough to know that I like my sweet and tart mixed — and always have.
I wish I could write poetry! I’d write a poem about the granular, sugary sweet offset by the oily bite of the soft peel. I can’t, not my kind of writing I’m afraid. I wish I could though.
Today wasn’t all that great,but it ain’t over yet!