You already know that I’m a writer. If this blog alone isn’t enough of a reason, I’ve got a bunch of stories in some sort of draft state.
Well, now I’ve taken it more seriously. I wrote (well, finished, more on that in a moment) a book. An actual novel. I have a proof copy of that in my hands right now (which, I gotta say, makes typing really hard). It’s called The Banshee and it’s available now as an ebook (print copy on 15 October, with a hard cover to come).
Dial the Wayback Machine a few months, and I was taking a writing course. Specifically, a genre fiction course. This was through the Alexandra Centre Writers Society here in Calgary, and the course was taught by Susan Forest, a writer’s writer. And, frankly, one hell of a teacher.
The class, although small, was focused less on rote instruction, but on understand the core precepts of genre fiction. If you’ve read a lot of science fiction and fantasy, for example, you already know these precepts. You might not know what they’re called, but you sure as heck notice when they’re not there, or when someone’s mucked with the model.
I took the class in yet another long chain of soon-to-be-broken promises to myself to actually do something with of these ideas that have haunted me for years. Like, say, complete and publish a book. Why are these broken? Simply put: fear. Fear that I was insufficient to the task, fear that I wouldn’t be taken seriously, fear that I would never find a publisher. (And to be very clear, I still don’t have a publisher.)
I came out of that class every week with a burning desire to write. And complete unfinished work. And it started the first week of class – we were offered the chance to have our writing critiqued. I bravely – or naively – signed up to be the first.
I provided the first chapter for The Banshee. And then I held on for the inevitable flame.
(In my defense, I was one of two male students. The protagonist of my story, Jo, is female. I have massive imposter syndrome writing from a female POV, for obvious reasons.)
The comments were … highly positive. The structure for these was quite simple: 3 things you thought were good, 3 things you could change. Susan, for her part, basically edited the chapter, including noting my extreme habit of comma splices (I’m sure you’ve not noticed this at all). The most “negative” comment was why Jo was so angry. Which makes sense because the first-time reader has no insight into what’s been going on at this point, so Jo comes across as, frankly, a bitch.
What I learned: This was possible. First-time readers, people I had never previously known, suggested this was actually readable.
Before the class ended six weeks later, The Banshee was entirely reedited, sections adjusted, the ending rewritten (for the sixth time). All I needed was a professional editing. Conveniently, that class also offered me an option: Susan, herself. (For the record, she’d mentioned it during the classes.)
Although ostensibly a structural edit (make sure the story had all the key elements in the correct order and I hadn’t left any gaping plot holes), Susan must have taken pity on me and provided a few more: a few spelling fixes, and repeatedly calling out my tendency to have really long sentences. (For the record, that’s the first actual period in this paragraph. Point well made.) What those edits weren’t was a red flag – there were no blockers. I could do this.
What I wasn’t going to do, though, was find a publisher. I’ve heard too many stories of writers waiting for years. I had just turned 53 when Susan started her edits. Barring any major issues (like I said, there weren’t any), I wanted this in people’s hands before the end of the year.
This is where the other guy in the class came in handy. Karl had already published books. But unlike Susan – who had a publisher – Karl did self publishing with Amazon. There was a conversation, a segue in the topic at the time, that talked about how it was fairly simple to get it into Amazon with very little overhead. Not the publisher, not the agent or the editor, or the extensive marketing, or all those other fees. Does your book potentially not sell as well? Absolutely, and I have no aspirations of selling 100,000 copies (though I certainly wouldn’t object). But it means that I say I’ve published a book.
And, now, I have. It’s out there. Like, for reals, this time. And I have a physical copy in my hands.
That’s not to say it was perfect. There were a few issues. Some spelling, a few lingering punctuation issues, and a couple cases of “it looked weird” when the printed pages lay before me. So I’ve made a few changes. Because you can do that when you’re the publisher and books are printed on-demand.
Yes, it’s still Amazon, and yes, we have issues with some of Amazon’s business practices. And yes, I’d prefer a Canadian-based printer. But … I’ve struggled finding one that didn’t also come with caveats and questionable practices. So, for now, I’ll leverage the largest bookseller on the planet to further my aspirations. (And if there are any agents out there who might be interest, I’m on Goodreads. Just saying.)
But, holy crap, I’ve actually written a complete novel. It’s been a very long process to get here. I’d say it’s about time.
