Finally! I can now call myself an author. I've finished writing a book--it took me a honking four years to get this far--and it feels great! No, it feels wonderful! I printed my manuscript and placed it in a safe place so that I can mull over other things before returning to it later. Well, 2 weeks have passed and I have not yet done anything with it. Arrgh, it's so frustrating because I am a natural procastinator. My wife gives me a scouring look every time I mention anything about my career as a full-time writer--not because she does not believe in me, but because she thinks I should just do it instead of talking about it. (She's tired of being just a housewife; she wants fame and fortune, and she wants it PRONTO! Or so I think.)
So this is my plan. This weekend, I'm going to re-read my manuscript from first to last page just to make sure there isn't any typos or embarrassing errors. I'm determined to be committed to my manuscript. And this weekend is going to be the time I get it done once and for all.
Come next week, I shall be saying hello to agents all over the country. And by October, I'll have a deal. By the end of this year, my manuscript will be sold. Sounds like a plan? Yeah, I think so too.
And if you'll excuse me, I've got some moving-on to do.