Box of Books

Got home from work today and found a big ole' box a' books on my porch. I was excited, until I brought the box in, opened it, and discovered that it was a bunch of copies of The Bastard Hand. Man, I already read that.

Heh. Kidding, of course. Naturally I was thrilled. Although to be honest...

It's kind of weird, but none of it feels like you THINK it's gonna feel. You work for years to get to a certain point, and when it arrives you're sort of thrown for a loop. I dunno. I can't explain it. Don't misunderstand, I'm very pleased that my book is out there and people seem to be enjoying it, but the sense of accomplishment or contentment I expected is nowhere to be seen. All I can think of is, 'what's next?' I need to polish up the manuscript for the second novel I just finished. I need to get back to work on the third one after that. The Bastard Hand is over and done now, aside from the pimping stuff. I feel the need to make sure the next book is even better.

And I imagine, if I'm lucky enough to have my second novel published, I'll feel the same way, all over again. Nothing's quite good enough, is it?

Oh, some good news: I heard this morning from the literary agent I've been holding out for, the one I really, really wanted-- she wants to see the manuscript for that second novel I mentioned. So that's very cool, yes? Fingers crossed.