Excuses, excuses

Presenting excuses  valid reasons I've not blogged since August 18. (at least it's August of this year):

1. I had amnesia.
2. I had a severe case of apathy.
3. I broke both wrists while attempting a handstand.
4. I'm trying to get my latest novel finished so it can be published this year.

You probably guessed right: apathy.

No! Just kidding.

If you've never written a book, you probably think you write "the end" and set your pen down with a satisfied sigh.

Not even close.

If you are like me you want to be hands on for the entire process, so the next thing is the photo shoot for the cover of the book.

But also, while you are planning the shoot, you madly hand out first draft manuscripts to readers: Those wonderful folks who have a red pen in their hand and a wicked gleam in their eye. They go through the book with a fine tooth comb and mark everything that is misspelled, questionable, left out words, punctuation errors, words that should be other words, and big fat mistakes. When the manuscript is returned it looks like it's bleeding to death.

And thank God for these people. He knows I need all the help I can get.

The photo shoot for this book was last week and it was fun. A five year old, a six year old, and a creek. The children aren't old enough to be self conscious, so anything asked of them was done cheerfully as they chattered away to one another, becoming fast friends.

The only problem is finding the perfect photo - because at first glance all one million shots look perfect. 

After getting all the wounded, marked up manuscripts back, I have to read them, change or disagree and put all of it into the computer so I can print out another, freshly corrected copy to read myself. And after I mark it up, I do the dreaded thing: I give the last corrected copy to Eagle Eye Hill: Daughter. 

She is always the final reader to proof and edit my manuscript before it goes off to the publisher.

But the  most horrifying part, the part I can scarcely mention is this:
I have to have a picture taken. Of  me, myself.

Do you  have any idea how much I dread this? I don't take a good picture; you can "there, there" me all you want, and insist it "probably" isn't true, but it is. 

My features are too small, my cheeks are too high, the left side of my face doesn't match the right side. And then there's all those new friends we call wrinkles.

Couldn't we just put a picture of my cat up instead?

Well, my nose will be back to the grindstone tomorrow.

I'll blog when I can.

After it's all finished, I'll be pestering you to read my blog all the time again.

That's either a promise or a threat.

You decide.