I submitted my first book of six early last night.

It was a good feeling.

I’ve turned in my fair share of books over the past few years, but most of those have been under different names, the all important paycheck. But there’s something really satisfying about sending out your own work and I’ll be doing it a lot more in the coming months.

When I say six books, this is how it breaks down:

Two short story collections (One of which went out last night).

A “collection” of four novellas. I have “collection” in quotation marks because I don’t know if I’ll try publishing  them as a single book, or  self-publish them individually and fool around with the medium a bit.

Novel #1 is the book I’m currently under contract for. Yeah, that’s getting my full attention at the moment because I like money and I’m having fun telling the story.

Novels #2 and #3 are the long stories I’ve been working on since I quit my old day job a few years ago. Novel #2 (Which is actually #1, but, you know, it’s on spec, so it’s #2 at the moment) was actually conceived in 2011, so it’s been brewing awhile.

On top of that (Yeah, I know, I can go fuck myself), I’ve got forty some odd poems out in the wind with another ten waiting to be typed up. Twelve unaffiliated short stories (A few of them are out as simultaneous submissions. BTW, don’t do that, but in the same breath, more than a few publishers can go and fuck themselves. I’ve had a bunch of these stories out for six months.), three waiting to be submitted (Time constraints because of market research. Subscribe to Duotrope, it’s worth the $50. But it can be a bit time consuming finding the right markets), four to be typed. Then there’s the two previous collections which I might or might not put back out into the world (Right now, it’s no).

Then there’s the columns for Gamut (of course, Gamut is no more)

The columns and reviews for LitReactor.

2017 has been a very busy year and a very good one.

I know this all sounds like bragging, I promise you, it’s not.

When I was a younger man, still working in a semi-professional cube farm, I promised myself if I ever had the chance to stay home and do nothing but write, I would take full advantage of it. I feel like I’m doing just that and I’m getting to raise and take care of my family, too. Ultimately, it’s a boring life, it’s the kind of life a writer needs.

I’m not bragging, at the moment, I’m proud of myself, that’s it, and it’s me, the baby, the dogs, and the cat here to celebrate, so you’re getting a sappy blog post out of me.

And succeed or fail, I can at least say that I went for it.

Morning Soundtrack: This Here Is Bobby Timmons.