[diesel engine ignition noise]

Day 1. 2 pages, 741 words.

Well, I sent off for proof copies of my book yesterday, so should be receiving them within a few weeks. Then it’s on to the marketing ideas and other stuff, and then actually releasing the damn thing.

There are rumours that Amazon is going to be holding a submission drive of sorts, allowing authors of unpublished books to send in e-copies and covers, which will then be judged by a panel and the winners awarded with advances, royalty-percentage boosts, and added benefits – all purely for the e-book. Couldn’t hurt to wait for them to announce this officially, and see about entering. If I make the cut, it will add cash and visibility. If I fail, I’m still going ahead and publishing anyway, so what the heck?

Of course, the same is true of pursuing actual publishers and agents, but it’s becoming increasingly obvious that the best-case scenario – being picked up by a publisher – might mean the risk of being blackballed by Amazon and having your book become inaccessible. So what the fuck are you supposed to do? I’m going to go with the “I wrote this book and I don’t need a pencil-pusher in an out-of-touch publishing house to render judgement on it, thanks” option.

Which I suppose is the option crappy self-published authors have taken since time immemorial … but I want to say I’m not crappy. Which, again, is what the crappy authors say. But oh well.

In the meantime, on with book two. Start the clock.

Start the clock.

No, start the … oh never mind.

Of course, this being Friday and this weekend being a busy one, the clock is probably going to jam up a tad here … but the important thing is, no fucking around. It’s on. And if I ever manage to attract larger numbers of readers than I am currently already in personal communication with as friends and family, this count is going to keep me honest and them in touch with my progress.

No stalled megastories given up and dragged-out mid-series for me. It’s all going to be different. Oh yes. Why would I fall into that trap, when I’ve been so relentlessly critical of authors for falling into it themselves?

No sir. The clock stays.

 

About Hatboy

I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends. Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages? I am Hatboy. https://hatboy.blog/2013/12/17/metalude-who-are-creepy-and-hatboy/
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