Ever get the sensation when you’ve been sitting down for a really long time and then stand up really quickly? Feels like your head’s going to inflate and float up into the ceiling, and your blood vessels become much too narrow for the sudden increase in pressure. And then you fall over.
I have absolutely no reason to tell you this, apart from the fact that I’m stuck for a meaningful introduction to this post. But I will comment on another odd sensation which did occur to me the other day. I know I’ve already mentioned the fact that, should you wish, you can go and get a real life holdable, page-turnable copy of Serabella, but for me this is what could be described as a milestone. Despite the fact that I’ve always wanted to see something I’ve written bound and placed on a real bookshelf, I never really believed it would actually happen. Until I found a book I’d written, in paper, on a real book shelf. The feeling is, to say the least, surreal. Delightfully bemusing.
But even as I look at it sitting there on its shelf, nestled in between a few other books which it really doesn’t have much of a right to be next to, I turn to the next project. Humans are, by nature, filthy, cruel, boring, sometimes interesting and smelly, but generally a bit weird, on the whole. One of the things we do is set goals, and try very hard to reach them. But upon fulfilment, the period of satisfaction, of enjoying one’s successes, is pitifully brief. It’s much the same in bouldering. Have project, will obsess and devote every available photon of concentration into achieving said project, and then forget all about it before one has even stepped down off the boulder. I suppose the length of time spent revelling in vainglorious self satisfaction is directly proportional to the length of time spent in the achieving, but I’m not entirely sure of the ratio.
Needless to say, having had a copy of a book, that is to say, the first one that’s seen the light of day, printed and delivered (thanks Kode), I almost immediately sat down and set to work editing the next one. But then I realised something. One of the things I’d striven so hard for, for many years, had finally been achieved. Again, the sensation is surreal. In that moment I sat back and smirked. Yes. Smirked. I’m not afraid to say it. Do something rad, celebrate it. Even if it’s a small thing, because if we deny ourselves that time to reign triumphant, why do we bother to go to all that effort in the first place? If we’re not going to do something meaningful in that small window of time between the two bookends of infancy and decrepitude (both of which, funnily enough, we occupy in diapers), then there is no point in getting out of bed at all. We are our own harshest critics, but there’s no reason why we can’t be our own biggest fans, too. Nobody else around to witness your achievement or pat you on the back? Pat your own back, you deserve it.
Meanwhile, we’ve had a whole stack of sample downloads, which is magnificent. If that’s you, struggle past the first few chapters and it gets better, I promise…probably. And speaking of editing, I’m optimistically 50% done with the edit of The Adventurer’s Daughter. I’ll leave the back story for another post, and because I’ll be in the Grampians for the next three weeks trying not to be too goal-oriented, I’m going to have a punt at writing a blurb, sans editing, because I’ve been putting it off for frickin’ ages. Pretend it’s a movie trailer, if you will…
“Gaeliam ‘Musty’ Fotherington was the greatest Adventurer of his time, perhaps the greatest there ever was. There was never a challenge he couldn’t overcome, no danger too dire, no peril too bleak or adversary too evil. He’d been from one end of the Empire to the other and everywhere in between, climbed unscalable mountains, done battle with monsters most foul and spoken the unspeakable, and that was all before morning tea.
While he had amassed a king’s ransom of ancient crowns and lost swords and priceless stones during his lifetime, they were as nothing compared to his young daughter, Annahenata Fotherington. A beautiful jewel herself, she was his most precious treasure of all. To her his harrowing Adventures, his terrible calamities and his hair-raising escapes were the best stories, and she dreamed of one day filling his well worn boots, of becoming an Adventurer in her own right.
But after Musty’s death those stories became all Anna had to remember him by. Childhood fancy soon gave way to the demands of the aristocracy, and that little girl with the grubby hands soon grew into the young heiress of Fotherington Manor. Her dreams faded and were soon forgotten, the door to all of Musty’s works closed. Reputation and standing became her world, opulence and grandeur her life, and under the cold tutelage of her mother, she turned her face from her father’s legacy.
Until his Legacy comes looking for her. Though Musty is indeed gone, his enemies most certainly are not, and they want their revenge. They are after Musty’s famous Legacy, a horde of riches he collected and hid after a lifetime of Adventuring, and if they can’t take it from the man himself, they will turn to the next best thing.
Anna is plunged into their world, a world of cutthroats and villains, scoundrels and blackguards. Haunted by a side of her father she never knew, she must stay alive long enough to sift the lies and dredge the truth about who he really was, and discover the shocking revelations behind his famous hidden Legacy before they get to it first.
Anna must open the book of her father’s past and step into his stories, where she will soon come to find that, actually, this Adventuring lark is a bit more involved than the usual swash, swash, buckle, buckle, home in time for a scone, as most people might have you believe.”
That’ll do for now. I’ll probably do a few more as time goes by, because like all good movies, there is never just the one trailer. But UNLIKE most modern trailers, I don’t give away all the best bits! Or at least I hope I don’t…