A Real Thing in the World

Today I received a notification--actually just now, I received a notification--that my initial author's copy of Phineas at Bay has shipped to me. Assuming nothing has gone wrong in the process, the next move will be to go live in both paperback and Kindle form.

It feels like it's been a long time coming, since I first conceived of the book over six years ago, but when I remember that the complete first draft restarted from chapter 3 in April 2013, and a complete draft finished by the end of November of the same year, and that my extraordinary editor Karen Clark and I went through three drafts, not to mention the cover and book design, and proofs, and all of the marketing materials--why, it's been a whirlwind, really.

(Let me mention that Karen has her own novel, which she has entrusted to my care as editor, and which I think will deservedly make quite a splash when launched. It's a finely wrought story, contemporary in every way, and yet with powerful literary resonance. I won't say more yet, but I want to express my gratitude for the fact that I have had the benefit of being edited by a first-rate writer.)

So this isn't the post in which I urge you all to go to my Amazon page (it's not live yet, for one thing) and hope that many of you will find it interesting, and in whatever format, buy.

This is the post in which I ask you to share with me the strangest satisfaction, a calm before what I hope will be a storm. You see, I have since childhood loved books with a passion; fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and prose alike. I was an English major, and have read obsessively all my life--but with a special love for the novel, that seemingly simple, but endlessly variable, addictive art form. And I order a lot of books online, whether in e-book--I predominantly use Kindle--or from major publishers, or, most often, from independent bookstores.

But the book coming in the mail this time, jacketed, illustrated, finished, "rounded off and bright and done," (to steal from H.G. Wells via T.H. White, as applied to his own epic)--this finished work of fiction?

It's my own. I have written a novel, quality yet to be assayed. But--I have done the thing.

Something to savor while I wait for it to arrive. Something to savor, whatever its fate and reception.

Wish Phineas and me luck!