As the reviews on my ebook, Simple Intent come out. I begin to wonder what it would sound like if I wrote a review on my latest reads… and then I wonder why don’t I?
I think it’s a matter of time, and of space. How can I tell you that one book made me immeasurably sad but not why, and yet another made me angry and the last one? Although a raving success out in the world… I could not and have not finished it.
sigh.

thanks to this reviewer: who read and liked my e-book..

The first e-book offering from little old me.

Yep. I did it. It wasn’t traditional. It wasn’t even my favorite book. I know, you shouldn’t say that. But I have become filterless in the last short while… beware the “f” bomb, people.

I blame it on the world. I am, like most writers filled with doubt about the publishing world- the book as we once knew it is probably changing forever. And along with that, is the way we acquire, market and buy both the author and the book.

So what’s a girl to do? Give up her dream? Stand there and just take it? Nope. Not my style. I have been patient. I have been understanding, forgiving and kind. Ask my agent.*

I believe there is “the right time” for everything, but seriously… does it take 4 months for an editor to reply? I know I always think I can do something better than the guy in charge, but imagine this… an email comes in. You read the query.  You say, nope. not for me. you reply. You delete, and repeat. A pitch comes from an agent, you like it, you request manu.  She sends it, you skim, trust your gut. Offer or decline. Done. Next?

Don’t even get me started on the army of marketers and accountants it takes to push a manuscript into book form. Or the way most people only read what they find listed on a BOGUS best-seller list. ANd please, we do not want to talk about the way some writers are more magic web masters and salespeople than wordsmiths.

ARGH.

Let’s just say, I want to keep writing novels, even if no one ever reads them. Even if I have to buy the whole stock myself and fly around the world reading chapters to blind people . I want to believe in the power of words, be sucked into the imagery of a place I will never go nor have never been. I want to be responsible for taking one person out of their reality and dropping them smack into a place from my dream. I want to mess with your head and I want you to love me for it.

Well, there. that’s why we write. For love. Or… to annoy the shit out of you.

I do both.

*note to agent   forgive my candor…now go pitch We’re Not Waving, We’re Drowning, and 3 Women Walk into a Bar

The old FAMILY ANNUAL REPORT poking fun at all those holiday letters you can’t wait to mock then toss in the fire.

Check it out over here:

http://linda-sands.blogspot.com/

One piece I’d written and entered in a spoken word contest, but the others had never really been completed, I think there are about nine total.

I found an interested editor, sent in three to his new journal and they liked them, publishing them immediately.
A wildland fire service organization got hold of the link via Facebook, liked what i had to say and how I said it and now I may have another project in the works.

I love how my work is like knitting… the ball of yarn unravels, the needles click, something is born and inevitably, a stitch is dropped and the yarn runs out, because nothing is ever perfect and nothing is ever done.

Here’s hoping my knitting doesn’t catch fire.

You can read it here: linda-sands.com
or on the journal, Moronic Ox

and yes, that is just perfect for me.