Not too much technology necessary

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A heap on the sofa, where I'm current sitting. This blanket, in need of the binding attached, is the quilt equivalent of my current computer headache.

My husband and I joke that I am actually the techie sort, self-publishing novels for over a dozen years now. I don't think of myself as a techie gal, preferring the artistic side of noveling, quilting too. But someone has to format and upload manuscripts, post blog entries, etc, etc, etc. That someone is me.

Past Me, Future Me, and little old Present Me, lol. I don't know how long I'll be in this indie author gig, in that I'm happy writing my stories. Full disclosure is necessary here: I queried my latest series, got no takers. I'm fine with that, in fact I'm somewhat relieved. Maybe it's liberating in the consideration of these novels being what they truly are, my heart and soul. I could wax a whole lot more lyrically about it, but suffice to say, I'm grateful for the opportunity to write a book, then release it into the wild.

Storytelling is an ancient art, e-books a recent invention. I had a contentious relationship with my biological mother, but I clearly recall her typewriter at the dining table, a story about a person named Sam typed out on some kind of paper, maybe onion skin? I don't recall seeing her typing, but the memory holds. (She also was a seamstress for what that's worth, nature and nurture always bopping into one another throughout our lives.) I wanted to be a writer once I realized obstetrics would take a lot of schooling and severely clash with my squeamishness, ahem. But I didn't ponder self-publication or the internet, personal computers or mobile phones. I wanted to tell stories, I guess because I felt I had something to say or an interesting way to say it.

I've been hampered lately by my techie tools, trying to sort out how I write all these sagas, the manner of which has become a behemoth in itself. But this morning as I read through the first novel of my upcoming series, I was caught up in the characters, the dialogue, the prose. And I was pretty dang pleased with my efforts, even if how to release this book remains a bit vague. Sure I wish an agent (or two) would have requested the manuscript. It's a mix of sci-fi, women's fiction, and new adult romance, perhaps too wonky of a mash-up for agents in this current state of genre affairs. But it makes me happy and the outlets exist for indie publishing and why not? Years ago writers were stifled by the inadequacies of how to get their stories into the hands of eager readers. No longer is that an issue.

I'm writing this post seated on the living room sofa near the fireplace, my laptop charging as I type. This is nothing like how writers of the past conjured their muses, white-out and old typewriter ribbons and stuck keys to mess with their workflows. How many people wrote books without any outward acknowledgement, too many to count. The freedom that is indie publishing is here to stay, small voices able to speak their two or ten or eighty-nine cents worth of whatever matters to them.

Meanwhile I need to figure out some techie solutions. I'm grateful the writing is solid even if the equipment and genres are all over the place.

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