You can buy the Kindle version of I Am Marcus Fox today and tomorrow for 99 cents. That’s like, less than a cup of coffee for Sally Struthers. How much does a cup of coffee cost? Like $76, right?
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The calendar says we’re now in the second half of 2019. Really, time? Is that how you’re going to play it? Very well then, let’s reflect.
I’m busy contemplating many things, including but not limited to marketing Marcus, finding time to draft new projects, figuring out how to present/possibly package said projects, reading and blogging Shakespeare, anticipating Frozen 2 with frosty breath (OMG it’s gonna be so good!)…
Whoever said, “You’re only as good as your face” was a weasel dufus swinging his head against the loose barn door. Splurge for new hinges, dufus! And don’t skimp on the screws this time, neither!
Well, now what?
I’m sitting in a haze of post-published, euphoric loss. I feel like I’ve had to say goodbye to one of my dearest friends. I gave him up to the world and now he doesn’t write me anymore. Wait, Marcus may be a storyteller but he’s not a writer. I don’t think.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve dreamed of being a published author. It began, one might suppose, in my early childhood days of climbing the branches of the tree in our front yard to sit there, midway up in the perfect nook, reading for hours on end.
“If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.”
— Stephen King
When it comes to writing, I know I have seen this quote more frequently than any other. It pops up everywhere. Case in point, check out the opening line of this bloggy.