Like many people, I lived under the illusion that I could write (and illustrate) books for a living. Especially children’s books.
Do you know how hard it actually is?
Anyway, one day I actually did write a book which I self published on Lulu.com, the DIY online publishing place. This was quite a few years ago, there may be other places now, but back then I think that was it.
This is the book:
Scooter was my second toy poodle ever. He was the first one I got while living in Australia. He was a real character, a little man with a huge attitude. He was hilarious. When we lived in Fentonbury the paddock next door was sometimes home to cattle and Scooter was game to take on anything. This is a true story. It happened one day while I watched. It was too good not to capture and share.
I think I sold about 10 copies. All to me. Ok, maybe a couple to a friend or two. The problem is that Lulu charges so much, its a ridiculous price to pay for a slim book!
I actually made heaps more selling the original watercolours on ebay.
I began illustrations for a book about Billybear, my other toy poodle, but never got past that to the story. One day I’ll finish it. Maybe.
You can see a bit more about my Scooter book and, if you have $$ to spare, you can order it online here.
Meanwhile, remembering this book got me to thinking about writing in general and beginnings specifically. I remember hearing somewhere that starting was the hardest part. I beg to differ. I can start anything, at any time.
Its finishing (or continuing) that’s the hard part!
In my mind I’m always writing first paragraphs for books. Its fun!
The man lay in bed, watching the neon light outside the cheap motel window flash pink then red then white. He couldn’t sleep. He was too conscious of the loaded gun on the bedside table next to him. If he failed tomorrow he was as good as dead.
Megan was woken by the cold. She reached for her comforter but something was wrong. She couldn’t move her arms or legs. Her eyes flew open and she looked around the dark unfamiliar room. She was lying on a mattress on a dirty floor, cable ties around her wrists and ankles. She remembered the man in the mask and she began to cry.
Yes. I obviously love crime and suspense books. Does it show?
Ok, how about:
Amy looked up as Troy put a large coffee on the table in front of her. Soy milk latte with a dash of vanilla, just the way she liked it. He sat down opposite her and smiled. He was such a nice guy, considerate, kind, attractive. They had heaps in common. He had a good job. Her parents loved him. Yet Amy looked watched him stir sugar into his coffee and felt like the walls were closing in around her.
The second paragraph? So much harder to do! LOL