L’homme Theroux just went through the first round of edits. Now, it is off to the Beta readers. I can only use the plural in the most technical of senses because there are only two. Of course, my wife is one of them, so I will have to prod her to be sufficiently hard on me.
If anyone else is interested in participating in the creation of L’homme Theroux, please contact me.
If I haven’t mentioned it before, I absolutely hate editing. It is the sort of nit picking, minutiae work that causes me to drink. I have a theory that writers seem to commit suicide more often than the general population specifically because of editing. How many writers have killed themselves while writing? It always seems to be during editing. That explains all the posthumous works.
I might have been able to send the novel out when I completed the first draft nearly two weeks ago, but I wanted to fix any big problems that jumped out at me. No reason to give my Beta readers the softballs. I want them to work.
The cover art should be in my tobacco stained hands by Friday. I have every confidence I will love it and begin plastering it all over the place. I have only the vaguest idea what it will look like, since I gave my artist a summary of the novel, a couple of themes to incorporate, and told her to go to town.
Now that someone besides me gets to see what I have worked on for two and half months, the nerves are setting in. I hope it is well-received because no one wants to be told they suck at something that has taken so much effort. It’s also taken sacrifice. Any time I would have spent watching TV, farting around on the internet, socializing with friends, or reading for pleasure, has been virtually non-existent since July. On the other hand, there is a part of me that wants to be put through the wringer. The last thing I want is to be yet another example of crappy self-publishing. This is an opportunity for me to show my skills.