In my most recent incarnation, I was a librarian. An academic librarian, to be precise. Not the kind that taught your class how to find articles in the database for your research project. The kind that managed the projects that made it possible to find old yearbooks and archival documents online.
Before that, I was a grad student. And an undergrad, and you get the gist.
Flip back a few more iterations to find the writer. Curlicue-lettered tales of magic and adventure crammed into tiny PataPata Peppy notebooks.
That’s the version we’re dusting off now. I had a story, the kind that wouldn’t quit. Over the course of a decade, it grew from a short story to a novel, then two novels. The character list took over a spreadsheet, and the map of the world kept crawling across new sheets of paper. Two decades, and prequels sprouted, tiny little mini-books, with the tendrils of a third tale.
I like a good hobby as much as the next manic pixie dream girl, but this story seems to have something more to it. After sticking around all these years, surviving additions and amputations and still standing strong, I think she’s published book material.
Pulling my little craft out of the hobby writing pool and balancing on the edge of writing for publication feels like standing at the top of a waterfall, but I can say with no pride whatsoever that worse books than mine have been published (and marketed) by major publishing houses.
I don’t expect to find a publisher willing to set that amount of money on fire for me, but I know that I’m determined to get my words on paper. And this little book is tough enough to withstand the process.
Want to follow along and see how this incarnation plays out?
Allison Ringness 