I was walking down the Yellow Brick Road…
No writer in their right mind would admit to any of this, so it tells you a bit about my mental health. I wrote a book. My crit partner really liked it. A few agents kinda liked it. My Samhain editor sorta liked it, blah blah blah. It’s called Steamside Chronicles. A few months ago, after quitting writing about a dozen times, I folded up Steamside virtually and decided to move on. It kept nagging at me, popping up in weird tiny recesses of my brain. I couldn’t let the characters die, I couldn’t forget about 1890. The year my grandmother was born. Yes, I’m that old.
So I self-published it. On Amazon and Smashwords. I didn’t have it professionally edited, I didn’t do squat with it except buy a cover. I sold some copies. I had no idea how to market a self-pubbed book, and it was tremendously depressing.
The truth is, I didn’t have it in me to do the things I knew a publisher would want me to do to it. Make it not a mess. Clean up the what’s-its and huh’s. I wanted it to be a mess. I wanted it to meander and confuse.
When the crazy meds kicked in (that is a joke, seriously), I realized that I’m egotistical enough to not want a book languishing out there. I subbed it to a new publisher, and it’s coming out sometime. Soonish.
So, if for some reason you know who I am, have landed here, and are wondering where to buy a book called Steamside Chronicles, it will be available again soon. I’m taking the current version off Amazon. It will reappear shortly. And God willing, I’ll find the mojo to write the sequel!