From The Guardian comes this observant article on the success women are finding in self-publishing.
Reactions can be summed up thusly:
“Let me argue the methodology! Let me discredit a single line in the article!” — Folks who are certain there wouldn’t be any gender disparity if women would just shut up about it already.
“It’s just because of romance!” — Folks who either failed to read the entire article, don’t want the wrong type of folks playing in their sandbox, or both.
“Yeah, but those women are just lucky.” Folks who’d rather ignore and/or degrade the achievement of successful women than accept that their success happened outside the traditional scope.
“I don’t need to read this because it’s all bullshit anyway.” Folks who saw “women” and/or “self-publishing” in the article’s title, and assumed the topic wasn’t worth their time.
“Yep.” — Women who are self-publishing.
My internet access last night was as slow as an exhausted sloth slogging through mud with kettleballs chained to its ankles, and writing on the computer in any position — sitting, standing, reclining, whatever — was distractingly uncomfortable. Thus I spent some hours stretched out across the bed to write by hand while the hip discomfort receded to an ignorable dull ache.
Excellent forward progress was made on Breath of Stone, the sequel to Sand of Bone. Considering I cut thousands of words with a fell swoop not too long ago, I’m pleased to have gained ground once again. Best of all, the collection of chapters that actively fought to escape the rules of a timeline are now behaving properly. I’ll still need to do some trimming of edges here and there, but no characters now need teleportation to arrive at their proper plot-required destinations.
I’m closing in on the sprint. I can feel that sense of urgency coming—the sudden clarity that happens when I can hold the entire plot in my head while, at the same time, focusing on an individual scene. By the end of the week, barring intrusions, I should hit stride again.
Oh, and I had a birthday yesterday. Nothing terrible happened. In fact, it was rather pleasant. Best of all, my sister—who readily points out she is the younger sister—flew into town last night. Icky roads and flight delays meant she didn’t arrive until around midnight, but we stayed up until 3am to make up for it. So worth it.
Maybe I’ll actually risk planning something fun and interesting and ambitious for my 45th birthday next year.*
And in the meantime, links and commentary!
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