Wednesday afternoon. Feeling frustrated with everything. Election over, but people still being completely illogical, ungracious, and unkind. Stories needing editing, but nothing moving forward with already-edited stories to encourage me to keep up with the rest. Children, as always and forever, needing me constantly, no matter how much I’ve already done.
Nothing earth-shattering, nothing that ought to bother me, just lots of little gnat bites adding up to ferocious annoyance.
Something snapped. I put a movie on for the kids, went into Carl’s study with the door open so I could still hear them if (when) they needed me. Brought up a basic photo-editing program, and turned one of my photographs into a book cover. Went onto Smashwords and read their book on basic formatting. Went to Amazon and read their directions. Implemented their suggestions.
In the middle of all this, talked to my husband, who was also having a frustrating day. We commiserated with each other, I went back to my formatting. Movie ended, kids ended up in the study with me, playing while I worked, me trying to answer their questions and respond to their comments while still getting accomplished what I needed.
Called Carl on his way home from work. Told him he was no longer allowed to be in a bad mood. “Why?” he asked.
“Because,” I said. “I am officially a published author. And that’s huge.”
And it is.
It may be “just” a short story; it may be “just” self-published, it may be offered “only” in ebook form right now, it may not have a “professional” cover …
but it’s mine. And it’s published. And I am over the moon. I’ve dreamed of this moment almost my entire life, and I finally made that dream a reality.