In which I fess up.

It’s no big secret that I haven’t been blogging as often recently. This is due to a couple factors. One, my aforementioned resolution to keep this blog a hobby that I enjoy, and not as a stressful time-suck. It means I no longer read like it’s my job, and I don’t finish books I’m not enjoying, and I don’t feel like if I don’t post three reviews a week, I’m some sort of blogger failure. I post when I feel like it, I recommend books I enjoy, and sometimes — like now — I talk about me.

Which brings me to my main reason for cutting back on blogging: I’ve been working on a book of my own.

I know what you’re thinking: A book blogger writing a book? SHOCKING. That’s about as rare as hipsters in East Nashville (okay, if you don’t live here, you won’t get that joke…which should give you more incentive to come visit/live here because we’re awesome here).

But yes, whether this makes you leap for joy or shrug in indifference, I have written a book. I can now say it in the past tense, because it is done. Or at least 98% done. It’s been drafted. It’s been revised, again and again and again. It’s been critiqued and beta read and critiqued a few more times. It’s been the subject of hundreds and hundreds of emails to long-suffering friends, bloggers, and writers (who really are all friends, too). It’s grown from an inkling in my brain up to a bloated 130,000 words and then back down to a more reasonable length. It’s gone from a secret project that only a couple people knew I was working on to a thing that I’ve now told my family about, thus making it real. I’m pretty sure the only thing that makes something more real than telling your parents is posting it on Facebook.

But hey, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

And now I’m in this weird place where I’ve written a book. It’s not a book book yet. I’m still waiting for a bit more feedback from some people whose opinions I value more than gold, and once I get those in — and I fix whatever stubborn things are still wrong with it — I’ll send my little book out into the world and see if any agents want it. Maybe they’ll love it. Maybe they won’t give it a second glance. I don’t know. It’s scary and exciting, and anticipating it makes me both giddy with anticipation and shiver in fear.

But even if no one wants my book — even if all I have to show for it is this file on my computer and a hundred form rejections — I’m glad I wrote it. Because not only did I learn that I have it in me to write a book — a book that, at the very least, my critique partner and my college roommate and my husband all seem to enjoy — but I learned that I really, really enjoyed doing it. And so while this one goes out into the world, hopefully to be snatched up by some delightful agent who loves my story as much as I do, I’m working on another one. Which is totally different from the first one, and I love it in a different way. Kind of like how I love chocolate, but I also love guacamole. 
And I wanted to let you know, because I’d like to be able to talk about writing on here occasionally. I’ll still talk about books and authors and movies and other fun things too. But it was time to confess that writing’s become a big part of my life, and worth a mention. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll get to write the exciting “I’m now represented by…” post. Or, even more exciting, the “My book will be published by…” post.

I really, really hope so.

Or maybe I’ll just talk about writing, because even without those big “event” posts, writing is fun to talk about. And even more fun to do.

Speaking of which, time to get back to it.

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