John Ramsey Miller
As I’ve written here, I’m probably going to try my hand at going straight to eBook with my next novel. I’ve been dragging my feet for a year or so, tinkering with two manuscripts, and thinking about what I want to do going forward. Since I have no publisher on the hook for this closest one, I had no editor to guide me. I need a heavy handed editor to tell me what I should already know and point to where I should know to go. I have been told on numerous occasions my talent is of the raw variety and can be lacking in the focus department. I have heard it over and over from the best editors in the business—and I’ve worked with the best. So I found a veteran editor who left NYC for the wilds of Ohio and who is raising a family instead of a brood of needy authors. So I have ten pages of notes in a chapter-by-chapter dissection. Great stuff, and I’ve got a hearty rewrite in my near future.
For the past two weeks I’ve been clearing a couple dozen trees—cutting them down, sectioning the trunks, splitting them, dragging the limbs into the pasture behind my four-wheeler, and stacking the wood to burn this winter. I’ve got central heat, but we like the wood-burning stove. I’m actually cutting the trees to make a yard in the ex-woods for the grandkids. I’ll build a fort, move the trampoline over and have a place kids will enjoy. My grandson has been here for three weeks. I work and he collects lizards and bugs in jars. Every night we release his catch so they can go home to their mamas. Weather has been wonderful.
Cool.
Bright
Clear.
I have not been writing, and that’s the thing I'm writing about.
I’ve been living life and thinking about writing as I go through the days.
Doesn’t matter at the present, but it might tomorrow.
I turned 62 last week.
Didn’t hurt a bit.
Didn’t mind it.
Next week I’m going to talk with my editor and start a long overdue rewrite. Then we’ll see.
I’ll keep you posted.
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