I think my brains are addled.
Seriously, this thing's getting so convoluted I can't think straight.
Okay, so here's the problem with writing mysteries. They're hard. Writing romances is a walk in the park compared to this. How long have I been working on this novel? Will it never end? And of course, of course, as usual this mystery just cannot take itself seriously. Nothing I write can take itself seriously.
Whine, whine, complain, complain.
Of course, the beautiful thing about having writing as a hobby and not as a profession is that I can write whatever I want, whenever I want. I can change genres as many times as I feel like it. There are no rules I have to follow. And if it takes me six years to write one book there's no one to complain about it but me.
It's kind of gotten me thinking about the future of publishing. Will there be more and more people like me, who prefer not to deal with publishing companies and literary agents, deadlines and pressure? Perhaps that's why the e-book trade is flourishing?
I suppose if someone were very serious about selling gobs of books they may want to go that route. But think of the marketing! Is there anything more horrifying than having to do book signings or radio spots or television time?
No. Much better to hide out at home and type away huddled in a comfy chair and a quilt and delve into thoughts of my own invention all by myself. I do like that I can make what I write available to friends and family and the occasional other person I don't know, all strictly online. Do a little formatting and wallah! A book! No fuss, so easy, now everyone can read it (or not). No pressure on me, no pressure on them. Then I can focus on what I like to do - writing.
