Doggie Went A-Courtin’ is LIVE

For the past few weeks, I’ve been doing a big thing.  I’ve been working on publishing a children’s ebook.

Any of y’all remember when I wrote a little picture book called “Doggie Went A-Courtin'”? Way, way back in maybe 2009?  I entered it into a contest and it placed in the top twelve and then went on to win 4th after all my friends, fans, and neighbors voted online day after day after day?  Anyone remember?  It’s been a while.

Well, after that contest I tried to get it published, but it’s never gone anywhere with traditional publishers.  So after Kindle made it possible for children authors to publish ebooks a couple of months ago, I went for it.  I’ve worked with an excellent illustrator who practically worked for peanuts and delivered a super product.

Here it is, in all it’s twelve pages of glory.

Its a cute little adaptation on Froggie Went A-Courtin’using a few down home animals.

There’s a couple of catches.

1) It’s only available on Kindle, so you either have to have a Kindle or a free Kindle app downloaded on something smart.

2) It has no reviews and in order for books to do really well out there in the e-world, they need reviews.  If you like it, please leave a nice review.  If you don’t like it, I’d rather you not leave a review, just go on and scrub your potty or something.

On Saturday, November 22, it will be free!! Grab it up then before the price returns to $2.99.

So buy it, give it a great review, and then finally, spread the word.  Share on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, or any other social media, send a pigeon, a smoke signal or  write it on a bathroom stall next to someone’s number for a good time.  It’s all good.

Oh and of course, if you find errors, such as in formatting, please let me know so I can fix it up.  This has been a huge learning curve and I know just enough to be dangerous, you know.

Thanks friends.

Angel

My Journey as a Writer

I’m beginning.  I’m still at the beginning.   I’m no longer at the starting line, and I don’t know the route or the way to the finish line.  But I’ve begun.

Not long ago, my mom gave me a green folder that had special mementoes she had discovered while cleaning out.  There were notes and letters.  A child’s drawings of hearts and flowers.  A book report in the shape of Oklahoma.  Just a few things she had saved of mine during my elementary school years.  I looked through them, not seeing much more than a pile of faded construction paper hearts with “I love my mom” scribbled in crayon.  

Not until I dug deep, did I find something significant.  It was a story I’d written, actually two.  My mom had written on the back, “Angel came home today so excited to be a writer. An author visited the school.  Here are two of her stories she has written so far.”  The stories were lackluster and quite morbid.  There were no happily ever afters to them.  It actually made me sad to read them and there wasn’t much talent there at all, just a childhood imagination.

I don’t remember the day the author visited.  I don’t remember writing those stories either.  I’m grateful my mom saved them, though.  It’s seems to confirm that writing is something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time.  I like to think it’s engrained.   It’s stitched in the fibers of my soul.  It holds me together with big sloppy stitches.  I guess somehow, throughout the years, my childhood dream of writing got pushed beneath all the glamourous, or high paying, or practical jobs that the teachers, parents, and society dictated instead.  The little girl who desired to be an ice skater, then a psychiatrist, who settled on a teacher but not before becoming a waitress forgot her aspiration.  No one valued writing that I can remember.  No one encouraged that.  Instead it was the doctor, lawyer, dentist, Dallas cowboy cheerleader kind of jobs to strive for.  

I started this blog a few years ago.  It’s one of my most valued treasures.  I’ve nurtured it and it is my life memoir, so to speak.   Some people actually read it.  And those same people actually told me I should write more.

So I did. 

Last month, I had a small (not so great) ebook published. That was the first hill of my journey.  

Today I turned in a second book, and conquered another hill.  It is actually a ghost writing project, meaning my name will not appear on it.  Someone else will take my story, put their name on it, and pretend they wrote it.  For now, that’s okay with me.  If I were them, I couldn’t sleep at night, but that’s their issue not mine.

Tomorrow I begin another story.  

And then, I have another one after that.

It’s good.  It’s all good.

I am beginning to think of myself as a writer.  Not a novelist, not even an author, but a just a little bit of a writer.  

I’m not getting rich and famous.  I’m not even being paid much, but it gives me a little Christmas cash, so I’m pleased.

Maybe somewhere down my journey,  I might be considered a novelist.  That would be so cool.  Maybe at mile marker 1,458, I might have an agent, and an editor, and a publisher.  

Dream with me just for a moment.  Close your eyes.  

Can you see it?  I’m wearing glasses and a scarf to hide my old neck.  My hair is grayer and I’m autographing a book.

Yes, I can see it.  It makes me smile.

When I arrive at mile marker 1,459  I’ll look back on this little post right here, and all the ones before it, and see my beginnings.  The ones where I wrote while my baby napped beside me in the bed.  The late nights of lots of coffee while the rest of the house slept, the times I took my laptop to the backyard while EK played with the dogs and chickens and I slaved away and on plot twists and character sketches.  

It’s an exciting journey, and at times it’s hard and long.  But I’m not alone.  

Lots have gone before me, and many are with me now.