S.L.Luck

July 22, 2021

Being a writer is like being a too-short kid on an adult roller coaster. When you start off, you’re excited. You can conquer the world, after all. You passed the indifferent ticket taker, pushed your soft belly against the gum-smeared turnstile, slipped into the oversized seat like a bean down a slide. You’re in and you’re sort of buckled. Who cares if the belt’s a little loose or the sweaty restraint doesn’t actually reach your body? Nothing can stop you.

You’re off.

You have an idea. Pages practically write themselves.

Higher now, you look down at everything beneath you, beneath your project. It looks smaller here. Not as magnificent. From this angle, you can see the defects. All the poorly-welded parts where the track might break and the manuscript might veer off its intended path.

Easy does it. Hold those plot points together. Annnnndddd…you’re at the peak. You’ve crested, scaled the high and mighty beast with your child safely in one piece. You did it. Your baby has all the required parts. It’s adorable, beautiful, even. You deserve a medal. Or maybe just a glass of wine.

It would be a bad idea to look down. Your wineglass is still full and the pages haven’t been bonded together yet. Don’t do it. Don’t—

Your mind betrays itself. Your head tilts. And you see the thankless, difficult, life-consuming pit of publishing at the bottom. All loops lead here except for the ones that don’t. You see, there is a teeny, tiny, infinitesimally narrow path loaded with eager readers just waiting for YOUR work. Your cart starts toward the bottom. You hold your manuscript tight and your wineglass tighter. The coaster falls. You pull away from your seat…

And repeat this with every short story, every novel, every blog post, every “Tada! This is me, world! Here I am!”

This is my journey. I didn’t know all this when I was a girl in a training bra and Noxema mask, but I also don’t think it would have changed anything for me. I write because I must. There is no other option for me.

I write all this because Interference was released yesterday and I’m feeling the same high/low as I did when Redeemer was released. SO excited. Then a whole lot of “what’s next?” Sales have been great, that’s not a thing I worry about yet, mostly because Amazon doesn’t count a paperback sale until a book leaves the warehouse. With Covid, local printers contracted by Amazon take quite a while to print (depending on the area). When Redeemer was published, I had all these messages from people bought the book, but none of this was registered for days. Then WHAM!, like 100s in an hour or something like that. My post-release jitters also has me wondering about the genre. Sure, the book could be classified as a suspense thriller, but it really does read like a Stephen King book (horror). (He is vastly more talented than me, but I’m much closer to his skill today than I was 20 years ago. I may never, ever, reach his expertise, but even 2% of the way is something I’m proud of.) Anyway, I entered the book in the horror category even though I don’t see it as a horror, because I’ve learned there are sensitive people out there who literally cannot cake any sort of fright. I’m not one of them, but I don’t want to risk putting my books into the hands of readers unprepared for a little jump.

Please, try Interference out (click the MY BOOKS tab for the link). I’m proud of how my writing evolved with this book. The writing is solid and the editing made it even better. Worst case scenario, it will make a lovely doorstop or level an uneven table. Give it a go.

Read on, Dear Readers!