Granted, the end of September is a self-imposed deadline – but The Bells of Prosper Station seems to be pressing for closure. The timeriders have grown quite impatient with being stopped in mid-action while the author checks out one more historic detail.
An historic fantasy, I’ve come to realize, requires far more verification of fashions, medical practices, technology and yes, history, than the original research foreshadowed. Furthermore, since the story has a local setting, it demands more archival investigation than I would have surmised.
Then there’s the problem of the real world interfering with the narrative playing through my mind. Did my son’s service dog have to develop Addison’s disease and become a special-needs dog? Does my husband have to display photography and floral arrangement in two local fairs this month? Must friends and family create distractions (and mess with my heart) through their various dilemmas and crises?
It’s understandable then that the gas-lit streets of Prosper Station and the eerie underground of Vapourlea have become havens from reality. Nonetheless, I must prepare myself to soon take leave of the guardians, shadow people and psychic vampires found there.
The manuscript is eighty percent finished. Beta readers and reader historians are dutifully reading, offering brilliant critiquing, and waiting for the final installments.
I believe I’ll self-publish this time (using a publishing service) to avoid waiting on literary agents or dealing with the complexities of traditional publishing. So unless an agent reads this blog and spontaneously signs me on in the next couple of weeks…