I realize Frog and I have actually had a story out there since September of 2011, but we didn’t really feel like “authors.” Writers, sure. But our little piece was folded in with a collection of stories; we were just one very small part of the whole book. With the novel though, that is different. I look at our names on the cover, and now I feel like an author.
And as an author there are some things I am rapidly discovering I suck at. Strangely enough, reading aloud is one of them. It may be the seven years since college, my dyslexia or whatever, but even I don’t want to listen to me. I either sound like Ben Stein, or my eyes get so far ahead of my mouth that I lose my place and stutter to a stop. I don’t remember having any issues with it before.
Certainly no one in my honors English classes or creative writing classes earlier in life indicated to me that I, in fact, can’t read out loud worth a damn. And yet I am finding its true. I would much rather hand over whatever piece we are reading to Frog, so that our work doesn’t sound like it’s being filtered through a robotic zombie who sometimes has attention deficit disorder problems. I’m working on it. But I can’t say I sound good.
Another thing I really struggle with is writing interesting biographies about myself. Of course, I think I’m a fun, quirky person, but doesn’t everyone? When asked to put it down on paper, especially if I can’t focus on our newly budding writing career, I put down something that is just as fun to read as the instruction manual that comes with cheap, paste-board furniture. Not the enigmatic no-hints or foreign language versions either, so you don’t even have a mystery to solve. This is a problem, because just about anywhere you contact about a novel, also wants to know who you are, and what your background is. I can’t imagine why.
Like I said, I’m working on it.