Yesterday I had a health scare and spent a significant part of the day in Casualty/ER/Urgences (take your pick), so I don’t have a prepared post. Lying hooked up and waiting for blood test results, the next ECG, whatever, I had time to think. And this morning in the shower, my random thoughts solidified.
No, it’s not the life/death thing or bucket lists. It’s about the strange book world I now live in. For some reason, a writing friend’s question came back to me. A couple of weeks ago, I’d been sorting out some guest posts for this blog and she (a rather keen self-publisher), was surprised at the list. She thought now I had followed the indie route that I would be exclusively ‘of that world’.
‘What do you mean? I asked.
‘Well’ she said, although you’ve had quite a lot of full reads, you’ve had over XX rejections. I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with any of them.’
Where to start? I have demoted her to acquaintance in my head.
Friends are friends wherever they are and whatever they’re doing.They may do things you wouldn’t, or live with people you wouldn’t. You may be just a teensy-weensy bit envious of their achievements. But the friendship stays. When you first meet somebody and something goes click, the spark of an answering smile in their eyes, you know you’ll be friends. So it is in the book world.
I’m inviting some of my book friends onto my blog mainly because I’m nosy. It’s the historian in me: why, what, how, etc. They’ve done interesting things and have interesting things to say that I think my readers will enjoy. And they come from the entrenched mainstream/traditional to the radical self-publisher and all stops in between.