I can’t help myself; I’ve got to blog this one. Finally, I’ve had a real, actual reader read one of my novels, and I’m overjoyed.
You know what I mean by a “real reader,” don’t you? Well, I’ve had some very generous friends and family members read my novels, but up until Friday, no one has read my stuff that didn’t do it for my sake. For the first time, someone read my book without any guilt involved!
Maybe you novelists out there know what I mean? Maybe (even more so) you self-publishers out there really know what I mean? As novelists, we struggle for months and years to get our work right, but as self-publishers, we invest even more of our time and money doing something that probably isn’t very much fun at all for the majority of us. Almost at the end of my rope, I’ve lately been wondering if I should’ve even taken up all of this vital, writing time to mess around with self-publishing.
Then a real reader actually read what I hoped and prayed real readers would read. Now, I’m living in a dream.
On top of that, she knows the town that I set my second novel in and feels that my depiction wasn’t too far off the mark. That had been a worry of mine, as I’ve never actually set foot in the place. You can read her review of Yolanda Polanski and the Bus to Sheboygan at: