It’s a funny thing when people say this. They talk it up like writing a book is some kind of accomplishment; like I should be proud of what I’ve done and hold my head high. But… why? At the end of the day, it’s a Word document; money takes care of the rest (and we all know how dirty most of that is). Pay one person to convert the document, another to design a cover, buy a few ISBNs, and that’s the heavy lifting done. From there, an account at Amazon or Ingram Spark is all you need – upload the cover as one file, the internals as another, and you have yourself a book.
Achievement? No, that might be to actually sell a copy to someone who doesn’t know you – which, my friends, is where Simon Chapman comes up short.
Granted, I could actually market it – doesn’t help that I’m a lazy son of a bitch. Don’t wanna put the effort in, fine, but then you can’t complain… right? There might be some truth to that. On the flip side, I work fulltime and am out of the house for over 11 hours every day, so I only really have to answer to myself.
Fortitude? It’s coming. I’m a half dozen chapters in, and I might not necessarily put pen to paper every day, but that doesn’t mean I’m not often thinking about it.