Stroke Happens?

6 Feb

 

I’ve just completed what I hope is the final draft of my manuscript of Stroke Happens: A Caretaker’s Story, which differs greatly from the first attempt. A former professor has looked at it and thinks it’s ready for a publisher and/or literary agent. I’ve submitted it, in this and a former version, to dozens of publishers and either received rejections or no answer. I’ve registered for a writer’s conference in Atlanta, where I will have 15 minutes with a publisher, who will look at the first few chapters; and an agent, who will read my proposal. I’ve blogging again and I plan to create a Facebook page to publicize it. Still, I have more to do! I need to write articles and give presentations and/or interviews, all a part of building a platform. I didn’t know it was going to be this much work, or I might not have started. But that’s not true. When I began writing Stroke Happens, the words gushed out of me; I had no choice. I started writing and didn’t stop for three months. Every day, I sat feverishly in front of the computer and tip-tapped away at the keys until I had about 30,000 words. Then no publisher wanted it, so I filed it away.

Three years later, and a move back to Pendleton, I get an offer to write a different book. I wasn’t as intimidated as I might have been, since I already had written 30,000 words and knew about how long it would take and that I could do it. So now I have a book, The Chattooga River: A Natural and Cultural History. I thought it might impress someone in the publishing world. No.

I never thought I’d say this, but I hope Stroke Happens.

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