’m pretty open with admissions – when I feel something I’ll note it here. I look at my blog as a personal diary at times (with the idea that I’m leaving it out for others to read). It seems to work best that way.
So I’ll admit this – I just finished the first book from an author and rather enjoyed it. I won’t say who but the review should be up soon.
I only had access to that one – it came off my dad’s shelf. But I decided to look online and see if he ever wrote anything else. I found that he’s continued his series, out four or five books now.
My first emotion was jealousy.
There, I said it.
See, where you (as readers) might be happy to find there were several more books of the series to enjoy, me, I feel annoyance over this (there, I said it again). See, I had the same deal going with my publishing house. I was already halfway through my next historical fiction and had figured out a great series to embark on, one about a young boy who gets swept into the Assyrian army and begins his career as a charioteer. I was billed as the “rising star” of historic fiction and was even considering if I’d possibly leave my day job. And then the publisher died, the house collapsed and everything was in ruins.
I still write. I’ve got a fan base online, a jot down whatever stories come to mind and don’t sweat publishing. If I manage to retire at years end, maybe I’ll even get back into writing. But that doesn’t mean (if we’re being honest) that I can’t look back to those exciting times and wonder what it would have been like to suddenly be the writer I’d trained to be. It’s a little hard to put on a casual face over the twisting visage of disappointment (and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t) and not dwell on it.
One looks at one’s cards and plays as one will.
So I keep blogging and keep writing. Maybe Indigo, someday. Or Tubitz and Merganstien. We’ll see.
A friend pointed out that China Miéville has a new book out.