|Knock before entering...|
I don't wanna be one of those writers who does more talking than writing, who does more networking than publishing. They aren't really writers, they are either people who talk about things they should be doing but can't be bothered, or social intercourse addicts who do a bit of writing when there's nobody on line...
Not me. I'm a writer. I know how many words I have written these last eight years. How many? Ooh, about a quarter of a million creative words, maybe more. But the only person to have read them is me! So it is a little absurd to be calling myself a writer or an author at this point, right?
Well, that's why I'm not here. Or on Twitter. OK, I have been boosting my Facebook page 'likes' when I can (and that's a story worth talking about later) but in truth, I have completely vanished from cyberspace! There is NO internet in my cave!
Because, to continue to call myself a writer, I must be able to do more than talk about it, I must be able to do more than Tweet about it, I must have a published book to offer you.
So that's what I have been doing, selfishly. I set myself a deadline of May 1 to get my first offering out there, and I need to cut myself off and get on with the craft of not just writing, but publishing my first book.
Life can't be ignored, the internet can - it's just a matter of will power (or a deep enough cave).
(The reason I am contradicting myself here and blogging tonight is that I have just finished the final edit of my first book, End of the Road, part one of The Rozzers series. My critique partners have been tapping their feet, believing I was just a talker-writer. I'm not. I am a writer!)