By Rick Kaempfer
My first novel, $everance, went to press yesterday. At the age of 43, I'm finally achieving my lifelong dream of becoming a published novelist.
How does it feel?
Well, I've discovered that the process of becoming a published novelist is really a series of premature celebrations. By my most recent count, I've celebrated the end of the process eleven times already-and my book isn't even out yet.
All of the following celebrations turned out to be a tad premature:
1. I celebrated when I figured out a way to weave my complicated plot together. I just knew it was all downhill from there. This book was going to write itself.
2. I celebrated when I finished my first draft. Six solid months of working on the manuscript every day-it was certainly all but over.
3. I celebrated when I finished my second draft-which I considered to be perfect. I just knew that I wouldn't have to change another thing.
4. I celebrated when I found a publisher. Granted, the publisher required a few minor plot changes-but that wouldn't be a big problem. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.
5. I celebrated when I figured out how to implement her changes. All I had to do was rewrite the second half of the book. Surely that wasn't going to take too long. I knew these characters like the back of my hand. It was all but over.
6. I celebrated three months later when I finally finished writing the third draft. I clinked glasses with my wife right after I hit the send button on the email.
7. I celebrated again when my publisher emailed me a few weeks later, saying she was proud of me for pulling it off-and she was sending me a contract. That was it. It was all over.
8. I celebrated again after I signed the contract. Finally!
9. I celebrated again after she sent me the artwork for the cover. Now it seemed real. There, on a stylishly designed cover, was my name (with the more author-sounding first name "Richard," instead of "Rick") in big block letters. Clink!
10. I celebrated again after the editor sent me the final line-edits. This wasn't going to take long to whip into shape, and then we were ready to go.
11. I celebrated again when I finished those final edits, and got them approved. Okay, now it's time to break out that bottle of champagne we've been saving.
Of course, I still don't have a hard copy of the book. That will be premature celebration #12. I still haven't scheduled my book tour (#13). I still haven't seen my book on a bookshelf in a bookstore (#14), and I still haven't sold a single copy of my book, although I understand a few have been pre-ordered (#15).
I must admit that I feel a little more sheepish with each successive celebration, but I just can't help myself. I'm not just the boy who cried wolf-I'm the boy who cried wolf fifteen times . . . and counting.
When the true moment of celebration comes, my friends and family will think it's another false alarm, and I'll probably have to celebrate alone.
If you really think about it, though, wouldn't that be the most appropriate celebration of all? Writing is, after all, a totally solitary experience. Shouldn't someone who works by himself, celebrate by himself? If you look at it that way, my first solitary celebration will be my first truly appropriate celebration.
Which, of course, calls for a celebration.
Don't worry. I plan on checking into rehab as soon as the book tour ends.
This article first appeared in Shore Magazine (www.visitshoremagazine.com)
This is the Promotional Video for $everance.
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