Books are
treasures. Books are friends for rainy days and summer afternoons. Books are
ideas, and thoughts, and heartfelt feelings and fantasies all squished into
little letters and smooshed onto dead trees. Writing these books, on the other
hand… is a labor of love. It starts out fun… while the ideas are flowing and
you are creating a world of your own, your characters coming to life in your
mind, then onto the paper. Then… the work starts. Commas… periods… are there
too many exclamation points? Are the clothes right… what about what they eat?
Are there pine trees in England? I dunno.. I better look that up! I would much
rather just write it… flood all the words onto the page, then hand it off to an
editor to fix it. But then again, after it is all done, and you know that you
did it yourself with the help of a few pre-readers and critics… what can you
say when you hold it in your hand and know that no matter how many are sold…
that you still left a mark on this world.
