Letting go

It’s been less than a month since I finished The Through. I’m supposed to turn to marketing the book now – if the first book doesn’t sell, there may never be a second. I’m not ready. I can’t let go of the writing process, waking up at 4, a quiet breakfast of coffee and a meal replacement drink, settling into my tiny office on the corner of the house, my ham-fisted typing (never learned how), my playlists, Scully, my cat, sitting on my forearm as I write, the recorded voices of Minneapolis PD telling the sex workers and drug dealers to get out of the alley. As strange as it sounds, I miss that tinny voice. Even the recording sounded bored, as if the cop who made the recording had better things to do.

And yet, I have to get the book into people’s hands. So I’ll be a good writer, and compose a marketing plan.

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