Now all that's left is getting a PDF proof and, if that looks good, having them send me a printed copy. Normally I do that on a rush service, but with Christmas they aren't offering the option so I'll probably just let it go live and get the printed copy when I can....and hope for the best. I want it available by Christmas.
For once I didn't have to keep uploading corrected files over and over, like previous books. The text still saves from Word into PDF with color profiles, no matter what I do, but that doesn't seem to make a difference once it's printed. Watch it freak out, this time.
Then there's the cover -- shifting from RGB to CMYK absolutely killed the vibrancy of my reds, and I can't seem to work around that. Maybe if I had a newer version of Photoshop I could, but mine's 15 years old. It's serviceable and does everything except the transfer of colors, so I can't whine.
So I celebrated by watching The Big Sleep (1946) as I sorted through a pile of paperwork and bills, and I'm finally getting the last of my Christmas cards out. I get later and later every year, but at least I had a decent excuse.
Y'know, I whine and bitch and complain and get beaten up by the whole process of writing...but once the work is done and it's as good as I can make it (for now), I love the final result. Parts of Underground Guy are some of my best work, yet. And while there's part of me that says it's just a niche genre gay-sex book...a part I can't shut up...I think I did a damn good job on it. I may get one or two reviews that say it's crap...if I get any reviews at all; that's not guaranteed...but I don't care. When I did my last check today I found myself feeling proud of several moments, and how the plot flows together, and the characters as they reveal themselves in steps and stages.
What I did in this book is basically take an evil man, use him as the centerpiece of a story he is telling, and have him change in stages from a beast to a human being. If I did it right, when he breaks down after finally connecting completely with a victim of the serial killer...people will weep for him. I hope. I weep, but then I'm the writer. And I'm self-aware enough to recognize that I've fallen in love with my words.
But I still think they're damn good.
For once I didn't have to keep uploading corrected files over and over, like previous books. The text still saves from Word into PDF with color profiles, no matter what I do, but that doesn't seem to make a difference once it's printed. Watch it freak out, this time.
Then there's the cover -- shifting from RGB to CMYK absolutely killed the vibrancy of my reds, and I can't seem to work around that. Maybe if I had a newer version of Photoshop I could, but mine's 15 years old. It's serviceable and does everything except the transfer of colors, so I can't whine.
So I celebrated by watching The Big Sleep (1946) as I sorted through a pile of paperwork and bills, and I'm finally getting the last of my Christmas cards out. I get later and later every year, but at least I had a decent excuse.
Y'know, I whine and bitch and complain and get beaten up by the whole process of writing...but once the work is done and it's as good as I can make it (for now), I love the final result. Parts of Underground Guy are some of my best work, yet. And while there's part of me that says it's just a niche genre gay-sex book...a part I can't shut up...I think I did a damn good job on it. I may get one or two reviews that say it's crap...if I get any reviews at all; that's not guaranteed...but I don't care. When I did my last check today I found myself feeling proud of several moments, and how the plot flows together, and the characters as they reveal themselves in steps and stages.
What I did in this book is basically take an evil man, use him as the centerpiece of a story he is telling, and have him change in stages from a beast to a human being. If I did it right, when he breaks down after finally connecting completely with a victim of the serial killer...people will weep for him. I hope. I weep, but then I'm the writer. And I'm self-aware enough to recognize that I've fallen in love with my words.
But I still think they're damn good.
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