I live a busy life.
I work a full-time job. I have a wife, four kids, and a very needy dog.
And somehow, I was able to write a 276 page book in the midst of all of that.
I set a deadline for myself - I planned on self-publishing using Amazon, because I didn’t want to deal with looking for an agent, shopping around. That stuff would just slow me down from achieving my goal. That goal? Publish 7 books before my 50th birthday.
It’s a lofty goal, considering I spent a lot longer than one year writing my first book. And I’m almost positive that I won’t meet that goal. But I’m going to try. I have been jotting ideas down in notebooks for years. Now I just have to flesh a few of them out.
But the primary goal is to produce a body of work for others to consume. Because if I don’t, the stories die with me. And the thought of that just sucks.
I wasn’t sure what stage I would be in with my book two months ago. So I spoke with my wife, and she agreed - I needed to go on a Writer’s Retreat. So I booked an AirBnB for this weekend.
But there was one problem; my book was mostly finished. I only spent about two hours on the book itself. I spent the rest of the time on a futon, watching television.
So my retreat was sort of a bust. But my book is done. And available for pre-order. On to the next one. I’ve only got 368 days to finish it.