An Innate Sense of Recognition

As of 7.31 a.m., my tenth indie novel is live. This tale doesn’t have anything in common with Halloween; it’s about family loyalties, love, heartbreak.  It also doesn’t have much to do with NaNoWriMo, which starts tomorrow, but it’s entirely apropos for this book to go live the day before NaNo starts.  If not for National Novel Writing Month, none of this plugging a novel would even exist.

This is the fifth in a series, the second of which the cover has been designed by the delightful and so talented Julie K. Rose.  Hard to get into the particulars about this book without dredging up the previous four, so I won’t attempt it.  What I want most to convey is the simple but lasting joy that is writing, revising, then publishing a book.  It doesn’t get any less sweet or profound with each one, maybe how the San Francisco Giants who won the World Series in 2010 are feeling today, on the cusp of a parade for their victory of a few days back.  Every championship and each book carries its own individual but priceless memories as a season is crafted, as a story emerges, from the very beginnings to the final poke, which I gave this novel early this morning, making sure nothing was amiss, or at least nothing glaring.  The Giants did give up some runs to Detroit, but only a few.

I sat in front of my monitor this morning  fully aware of the task; publishing this book.  (In addition to laundry, wrapping up the outline for one of my NaNo projects, watching the Giants’ celebratory parade.)  I needed to get this book released early, so that at 11 a.m. I can flop on the sofa, reveling in those ballplayers who made their dreams come true.  But at 7.30 a.m., I had made mine.

Before I hit the publish button, I listened to some tunes, one each from the next novels in the writing queue, then one from this book, “To Know Him Is To Love Him”.  It comes along late in the novel, on the heels of tragedy; I needed to be in the mood to set this novel into cyberspace, to continue the seemingly never-ending saga of the Cassels and Smiths.  However, one book remains, my favourite.  But that’s for another day.

Perhaps the Giants feel a little of the same; savoring this grand moment, but well aware of what next year could bring.  However, for now, I want to focus on this book, this slip of time.  Yes NaNo begins tomorrow; perhaps those novels will one day be the post of the day.  An Innate Sense of Recognition was written in July 2010, a bridge leading to the finale.  I considered that build-up while revising, setting all the players into position just so.  Some are young, some on the way out, like a baseball team; veterans and rookies all fitting into the lineup exactly where they need to be.  Within a series, every book plays its part, and this one leaves the reader with some closure, but enough open doors so the last book will be anticipated.  Or I hope it works that way.

If you’re preparing for NaNo, wondering if it’s possible, if it’s worth it, well, believe me, nothing feels better than rambling about baseball and books and the thrill.  The thrill of a finished manuscript released is for me what the Giants knew on Sunday night, will relive today as a million people cheer.  A writer’s audience is smaller, but the excitement is similar; so much hard work, blood, sweat and oh yes tears, then whoop; there it is!  If your NaNo mojo seems bleak or waning, keep this in mind; it’s a long road, 162 regular season games leading to how many playoff appearances, then…  The World Series.  A novel published, indie or traditional, is the same; pretty darn cool!

I won’t be blogging here much in November, but you can find me at Kelly Tremane and The Richard Brautigan Club, waxing about NaNo joy and noting word counts.  Or hunt me down at my NaNo profiles, where stats for those novels can be located.  Or (more shameless plugs, but today’s a day for it) check out my Tumblr; today’s picture (just below where this entry is reposted) is the original of this novel’s cover.  Snapped in September 2006 near Bolton Abbey, it’s a part of Yorkshire, not anywhere near the Willamette Valley.  But hey, it’s fiction; I’m translating the essence in whatever manner necessary.  Sometimes I use pinch runners, England for Oregon.  Like a good manager, pieces are shuffled, words are replaced.  The novel’s the thing; here’s another in my collection.

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