There’s something about summer that permits, or rather, encourages, unproductivity. And while at any other time I would find shame in simply sitting outside all day in the sun, I think it’s absolutely necessary to sustain my own breathing in summer. So I sit in the sun, live by the sunsets, and feed off of the simple things. I have taken the time to exhale and find pride in the accomplishments in my life. I have written a book, which is something that took so much time and determination and screw it, I’m going to enjoy that.
Perhaps one of the greatest and worst things about having my book published is receiving the reviews of strangers. Being that I do not know these people, they are not inclined to tell me what I want to hear, so when I peruse the reviews on sites such as Amazon, I hold my breath a little. I expect something brutal – some mockery of my writing skills – and yet, when I am met with positivity, it’s the best thing in the world. Having random people read my book and enjoy it is incredible. And it’s putting my pessimism to shame.
There you have it, beach living.
This is the scene we’ve been playing out in our house lately – only I’m usually the one on the sofa:
And any quiet reading I might be catching up on, gets put aside when someone (not me!) turns on the telly to get an update on The Olympics Games. (Sky Sport seems to have a gazillion dedicated Olympics channels.)
I am writing this as a person that has just jumped, excited and terrified, into a new life. I have just taken a risk, and it might be the first risk I’ve ever taken in my entire life. Yes, I think it is.
I quit my “real” job — never mind what that job is, for now — to take a year off and live by the ocean and write. I have another “real” job — never mind what that job is, for now — to have time to look at sunrises and sunsets, moonrises and moonsets, and to have time to write and write more. My new “real” job is so that I can also eat. I heard that writers have to eat, too, and so I have a job that will sustain my basic needs without draining all of my creative energy.
The good news is, I am already a “real” author! I wrote a book, called, One Hand Waving Free, and it’s a good book. I’m a very modest person, so I needed at least 35 people to tell me how great it was before I said to myself, “It really is good.” And now that people, real people, have actually purchased it (with real money), I am truly an author.
I fondle my published book daily. I smell the pages. I stare at it in wonder, and I read it critically. Like many writers, I didn’t write it to sell it. I wrote it only to tell a story. Now I want to share that story.
It doesn’t come naturally to me to sell myself, but here is the plug: One Hand Waving Free by Ellen Hofmann, available on Amazon for Kindle and in paperback and on Barnes and Noble Nook.