Good golly. Depression sucks.
My sister--and only beta reader--completely flaked on me. She had the book (approximately a 4-6 hour read) for two months and never made it past chapter 11. I can't even begin to express how badly that hurt me. I do not think I will ever get over it. (She doesn't know I dedicated the second book to her, thanking her for being my first reader. I guess I'll have to rethink that.) Did the book suck that bad? Does she just not care about me enough to help me with the only thing that's ever mattered to me, the thing I've been working toward for 20+ years?
After completing another abandoned book project and quick-outlining a sequel to that, I finally decided to finish my own third round of edits on Foundling last weekend. That took me two days, at which point I did a third round of edits on Blackbird, its sequel. My drafts are really clean, so really I'm just line-editing, which is why it only takes me a couple days to complete.
I've ordered new proof copies for each, and those should arrive any day, with... wait for it... the finalized cover design. (Go easy on me--I did this myself because I can't afford to hire anyone.) (Also, I'm only revealing the Foundling cover for now.)
Anyway, that's what I've been up to. Crying, doubting, resenting, considering giving up my dream forever. There's one person in my life who keeps me going. I'm going to stop blogging now and go spend some worthwhile time with him.
Ta-ta.
Your self-loathing genre fiction writer,
BCM
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