Writing Group Pt. 1: South Carolina Writers Association

Writing Group Pt. 1: South Carolina Writers Association

I promised you, dear reader, that I would post information about the two writers groups to which I belong. This one is under the auspices of the South Carolina Writers Association, an outstanding organization with chapters all over the state.

Diet Coke Does NOT a Happy Cactus Make

Diet Coke Does NOT a Happy Cactus Make

I don't worry too much about my ineptness because I know there are people out there who can do what I can't. Computer geeks, automotive engineers, and heart surgeons all have my respect and gratitude.

Done! Now what?

Done! Now what?

Alright, so what does a writer do when they finish a project, whether it be a novel, a stand-alone short story, article, group of poems, or any other work that has been completed? What do you do?

The Business of Books

There are two sides to writing if you are interested in being published. One side is up to you, and that is producing the story, poem, novel, or memoir that represents your best efforts and is rewarded with the great news that you are being published. The other side is cold, hard business - dark and seamy and filled with potholes and disasters - and those are the good things about the business side of being published.

When I was notified that my first novel was going to be published, I was thrilled. I had images of my book in print with my name on it and all kinds of accolades and bestseller status and . . .  so on. Likewise my second novel. Things were rolling and, even though I wasn't getting rich by any stretch of the imagination, I was proud of my work. Novel #3 was finished and sent off and I was told it would be published last November. And then communication came to a dead stop. Emails were unanswered. A Christmas gift was not acknowledged. No communication. This is the evil side of publishing; the business side over which writers have little control. So I made a decision based on the fact that communication had ended. I sent them a registered letter terminating my contracts. 

Now I am on the street again, seeking a publisher or an agent, tin cup in hand and singing "Mr. Bojangles" on street corners. Tough decisions are not always rewarded immediately, you know.