Last year I finished re-writing the first book in a series I've had floating around me head for years and decided it was finally time to publish. The problem I see with publishing is that because the writer's market is so enormous (everyone's a writer), the publishers all want you to have agents, and the agents all want you to molest their egos, which I'm really no good at. I ended up self publishing The Eleventh Age to kindle, firmly believing that if I got it out of the way, I could relax and start the second book in the series, and when I calmed down a little (er, grew thicker skin), I would venture back into the frightening realm where the "real authors" play and try to find an agent to do things the official way. A year later, I'm still freakishly ashamed of myself, full of doubt and seriously worried that I'll never be able to sell my self or my book to anyone. Obviously, there's a whole lot more to this story, but it's boring and involves me feeling terribly sorry for myself, which I'm sick of doing. The long story short of it brings me here, in search of real-life friends I didn't invent, who can understand where I'm coming from, because those few people out there who aren't writers (I think there are like ten left in the whole world, and for some reason they all belong to me), just can't understand. This is really a difficult trade.
If I haven't scared you all off with my neediness, Hi!