When editing a manuscript it is ridiculously easy to become blind to your own errors. Many of my mistakes slip by, even though I’ve really sharpen my editing skills. I’m still nothing close to perfect, English is just far too difficult to understand sometimes.
The more I learn, the less I know.
For example, I’m still struggling to fully differentiate between farther and further. This is probably one example of probably 10 other questions I’m currently researching. I’ve used both words in my own speaking interchangeably, but I’m starting to suspect now that many of those uses were incorrect.
With February Rain, the manuscript was edited numerous times, but when the printed book came out, a few errors stood out like a sore thumb. Thankfully, I was able to catch them and update the book in the amazon store.
After reviewing my newest printed copy, I can say with probably 95% confidence, the book is error-free. I’m one of those writers who will never ever claim to know everything there is to know. I’m always studying and striving to improve my skills and techniques, and I don’t think I’ve ever be perfect, even if I spend the next 50 years locked on a mountain with a bunch of grammar books. If that happened, I’m sure my language would find itself 50 years out of date, since language and always evolving and also, there is always and will be something new to learn.
Reading this version of the book without errors, I was finally able to dive into the poems. I really love this book because I’m still in so much love with the poems. Yes, I am the author, but I do not feel biased, because I usually hate everything that I write when I read it a short while later. I was very surprised to find that I still adore these poems and the images of other realities that it evokes within me. I usually question if I am capable of writing anything interesting, but I am still fascinated with February Rain.
Not the most articulate stream of thoughts but exactly how I’m feeling today, now that I am holding my self-published book, February Rain. It is so surreal to stare at this book, something come to life from the depths of my mind. I am in absolute awe of it, and find it strange to look at something and feel this instant burst of happiness.
It’s weird for me since so many things annoy me, this sensation of joy is just an odd feeling. But I feel such warmth and happiness from this book, and this is precisely why I self-published it.
I don’t mind if I don’t sell a single copy, I am just so happy to see it come to life.
Ahhh I just love how sleek and polished the cover looks. I had such trouble making it appear professional but I am so happy to see that it came out really nice.
I’m usually passed out around this time of night but I wanted to fight the urge to turn in.
I deserve a break from adulting for a least one silly night a week.
I worked on snapping some pictures for my poetry book that I plan on self-publishing. At first I thought of completing some illustrations, but all of my efforts look like a childish, amateurish mess. I would love to collaborate with a real illustrator but this project is so tiny that I couldn’t afford to pay them.
I’m a staunch believer that all artists deserve a fair pay.
Plus, my only goal with making this book is to show myself that I have a right to be a writer, and so there is no hope or goal of any financial success. The only success is to muck up the courage to create a book out of it.
So I ended up using black and white photographs. I think it looks a lot more romantic, and loads more professional than my paintings could ever make it. All of the photo used a noir filter and really played with light, trying to evoke that magical late-night feel. They remind me of an evening ritual that lasts throughout the night.
I hope others feel magic and mystery from them.
I’ve chosen to take the plunge and self-publish a collection of poems that I’ve been working on. However, I’ve been terrified since I decided to do this. Panic sits in the center of my chest whenever I ponder the thought, and my breaking becomes shallow.
I’m fighting with myself hard, because I just want to hide. I never feel like my creativity is worth it, I never believe that anyone would want to read anything I’ve written. My reasoning for self-publishing isn’t even to be successful, or to have anything amazing come out of it. I just want to prove to myself that I can finish my creative projects. I always sabotage myself when I’m about to finish a creative project–I just can’t shake the worthlessness. I think my reasoning for self-publishing is reasonable, it isn’t based on anything outlandish. It’s a personal reason too (which I think is wise) so there isn’t any reason to “fail” aside from not doing it at all.
But I am so scared, I think because if one person were to buy the book and they hated it, I’d feel so crushed by it. I’m always scared about what others think, even now I’m hyperventilating in my room, just thinking about the thought of self-publishing. I am so ridiculous! So many books get published every month, no one would even see my stuff…but I am still terrified.
Excuse me while I go hide under the covers *_____*
image credit: pixabay.com