I recieved an e-mail this morning from a good friend and co-worker who had passed on an article about the real cost of self-publishing. In it were little reminders as to how expensive such luxuries such as editing, layout, cover design, printing, promoting and distribution can be. I looked into those costs as I was writing The Legacy of Miss Annie Darden Coggins and decided to take the route I took when it became time for me to 'publish'.
Funeral Homes and Pay Toilets make money on the same principal: If ya gotta go, ya gotta go. The same principal applies to any number of professions or pursuits. One's vanity determines what one is willing to pay to pursue that vanity. For twenty years, I pursued the vanity of thinking I could make lots of money as a radio announcer. Mrs. Colonel Fair, my 9th grade English teacher thought so, and to this day I'm told that I have the voice to make a decent radio announcer. I tried at the cost of living on 'minimum wage and all the records you can eat' - whence came the name of this blog. So, as a writer, I've thrown away any concept that I can become rich overnight or that I can rub elbows with the like of Stephen King or the Rowling woman over in England. I write for my own entertainment. If someone else reads what I write and enjoys it, bully for me. If I can buy lunch every once in a while from the proceeds of my writing... that much the better.
So far, my quest to write and publish a novel has cost me less than $200.00, three quarters of which were spent in a continuing education class led by novelist Patricia 'Pooks' Burroughs. She is aware of my little adventure (and is probably reading this blog at this moment) and has given a word or two of encouragement outside of the class. The lessons learned were invaluable. I got a lot out of the class (which I would say even if she weren't reading this blog) and felt I got my money's worth.
My book isn't the best edited book there ever was. There were a couple of (unintentional) grammatical errors somewhere... there was at least one continuity error and there were formatting gaps which were probably the result of several reformatting changes I made while writing and assembling the book. The cover? I had some ideas, but decided on the format (as well as the title) in the final hours before sending the book off to Amazon. The title isn't up to snuff, either, at least in terms of brevity (fewer words the better according to author 'Pooks') - but on the other hand, the title and the sub-title (since when has that been used regularly) have created more than the original title (Finding Glenn Michaels) may have.
But I have a book. It is mine. I have done something. Even if I am the only person who appreciates the book and the sequels I am writing, that's fine with me. If you buy it, read it and enjoy it, so much the better. Like the fellow who followed the elephants in the circus so that he could clean up after them said: "Hey... at least I'm in show business!"
Be Seeing You!
bdharrell
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Does the Tooth Fairy still visit us old people?
I'm starting to feel my age.
A week ago, I took my first 'sick day' from work for over a year because of a toothache. It wasn't a little toothache, it was the toothache from hell. You know when you see those cartoons of people or anthropromorphic animals with handkerchiefs tied around their heads because their jaws are swollen because of a toothache? Yep... I had that kind of a toothache with a swollen jaw and everything. So I took some swell drugs from a left-over prescription, saw a dentist and... well, I think I said something about the rest.
This morning, I went to see an oral surgeon about having the three offending teeth pulled to make room for some sort or another of dental work.
He told me that I get a bonus. Two more teeth have to come out. Wisdom teeth, left over from when I had my wisdom teeth pulled when I was a teenager.
I was hoping that nothing would be said about the two additional molars at the back of my mouth. They have been sitting there, quietly, not bothering anyone for over 40 years. Roscoe pulled the bottom two out, saving the top two for later in life.
I liked Roscoe, Roscoe was pretty good for an oral surgeon in a small town. Roscoe lived just up the street from us for a while before he moved into the house next to my buddy Dave's. Dave and Roscoe had an ongoing feud... Dave liked to work on cars, usually running them without mufflers... Roscoe wanted peace and quiet.
I found out recently that Roscoe has gone to his reward without having touched the other two wisdom teeth. Other dentists have noted the additional teeth and have mentioned that they needed to be extracted... even suggesting "Oochy" as the man to do it. "Oochy" was another oral surgeon... another nice guy who eventually moved out of town to practice in Columbus.
The wisdom teeth have remained in place.
That changes on Friday.
The phrase "I'd rather have teeth pulled than to..." doesn't apply when one is having his teeth pulled. I look forward to it in much the same way as I would look forward to having my still-beating heart yanked out of me. The only saving grace would be if there was still a tooth fairy around for us on the high side of 29. I mean, it would be nice to have some cash underneath my pillow when I wake up at the surgeon's office on Friday... It would be nice to know that I still have some of my youth left.
Be Seeing You?
bdharrell
A week ago, I took my first 'sick day' from work for over a year because of a toothache. It wasn't a little toothache, it was the toothache from hell. You know when you see those cartoons of people or anthropromorphic animals with handkerchiefs tied around their heads because their jaws are swollen because of a toothache? Yep... I had that kind of a toothache with a swollen jaw and everything. So I took some swell drugs from a left-over prescription, saw a dentist and... well, I think I said something about the rest.
This morning, I went to see an oral surgeon about having the three offending teeth pulled to make room for some sort or another of dental work.
He told me that I get a bonus. Two more teeth have to come out. Wisdom teeth, left over from when I had my wisdom teeth pulled when I was a teenager.
I was hoping that nothing would be said about the two additional molars at the back of my mouth. They have been sitting there, quietly, not bothering anyone for over 40 years. Roscoe pulled the bottom two out, saving the top two for later in life.
I liked Roscoe, Roscoe was pretty good for an oral surgeon in a small town. Roscoe lived just up the street from us for a while before he moved into the house next to my buddy Dave's. Dave and Roscoe had an ongoing feud... Dave liked to work on cars, usually running them without mufflers... Roscoe wanted peace and quiet.
I found out recently that Roscoe has gone to his reward without having touched the other two wisdom teeth. Other dentists have noted the additional teeth and have mentioned that they needed to be extracted... even suggesting "Oochy" as the man to do it. "Oochy" was another oral surgeon... another nice guy who eventually moved out of town to practice in Columbus.
The wisdom teeth have remained in place.
That changes on Friday.
The phrase "I'd rather have teeth pulled than to..." doesn't apply when one is having his teeth pulled. I look forward to it in much the same way as I would look forward to having my still-beating heart yanked out of me. The only saving grace would be if there was still a tooth fairy around for us on the high side of 29. I mean, it would be nice to have some cash underneath my pillow when I wake up at the surgeon's office on Friday... It would be nice to know that I still have some of my youth left.
Be Seeing You?
bdharrell
Friday, February 22, 2013
Trying Week
It's been a trying week here in my neck of the woods. The trying part came at some point late Sunday or early Monday when the left side of my mouth began to hurt. The further I went into Monday, the worse the pain. I also noted that the left side of my face was getting all puffy. By closing time on Monday, I was desperate enough to head home to ask my wife about the availability of a drug other than tylenol to ease the pain. She drug out an expired bottle of hydrocodone... I took a pill and slept well, at least for a few hours.
Tuesday I broke down and did something I had not done since five years before the end of the previous regime. I went to a dentist. It started out with a round with the insurance company. They hadn't heard from me and wondered why I wanted to see a dentist after spending for dental insurance for eight years and not seeing a dentist. I calmly explained the situation and finally wound up with an appointment with a rather nice fellow by the name of Bang. He examined me, declared that I had three teeth which had to go, then gave me a letter to take to a dental surgeon to do the dirty deed.
I was in too much pain to disagree.
I walked home, stopping at the drug store to pick up a prescription for some amoxycillin, and encountered a man driving a beautiful black Thunderbird - all original - a 1973 model with only 60k miles. He told me that he admired the car when he was a kid back in '73. It belonged to an uncle of his who he seldom saw. Long story short, the fellow gets a call on his 50th birthday from that uncle who tells him to look out his front door - and sure enough, there was that same T-Bird from nearly 40 years ago! It sounds like a story in the making.
I got back home to more oxycodone, an antibiotic and a phone call from the people who had been trying to get me into a house of my own. There was talk about credit scores and errant credit cards which had been shared between the lovely Miss Carol and myself since 1997. I was hardly amused. I hadn't arrived in Texas yet, and she was way down near Corpus Christie somewhere leading her other life. After hand-wringing and lots of time on the cell phone, we finally came to the conclusion that the nice little place in Plano wasn't meant to be, so, we just backed out of the deal.
Wednesday and Thursday were more of the same. I made arrangements with the realtor to look at three other places more in line with our finances. One was a total wreck to the point where it would be better to bulldoze the place to start over rather than to try to fix what was there - One was nice, but... it backed up to the enormous football stadium built by the school board, and a busy street. The one I marginally liked the best was in a neighborhood I had already looked in. I arrived to displace someone parked in front of it taking notes and in the five minutes it took for my realtor to come to let me in, there was another someone giving the place (and me) the evil eye. At some point later that evening, I was told that the place had recieved 20 visits in 2 days. Wow. Most of the visitors would have noted some of the shortcomings I would have noted and there would doubtless be bids on the place from people claiming to be 'investors'. Doubtless I will see one of them coming into my corner of the retail world wanting flooring for their 'rent house' or for a place they are trying to 'flip', asking if I could do them a special favor and sell them the cheapest goods I have... no doubt at a discount.
I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that when and if I find a place I can afford, I sure as hell will make sure that it wasn't made over by someone using cheap goods to try to impress me. Sure, people have to make a buck, but why do it at the expense of someone who is trying his damndest to find an affordable place to live?
Friday has actually ended up rather nicely, thank you. I only dosed myself with drugs once today - with just plain Kroger aspirin - and have been relatively pain free. Funny. The oxycodone didn't work as well as the product developed by Bayer A.G. late in the nineteenth century! I messaged my realtor and as of a quarter past eight, haven't heard a peep from him. Perhaps I will find a place to lose that piece of paper telling me that it's okay to take money out of my retirement account for the purposes of buying a house. There would be a penalty if I did it now, anyway. The realtor knows where to find me... and somehow I think he might understand.
During the meanwhilst, the writing continues.
I have this kid, Kevin with a screwed up mom about to meet Pastor Dan's kids and Frank the Dog over in Magnolia, and I have a couple of people running from Houston to Tyler because of a robbery and a murder the night before. They'll be in Magnolia before too long... finding that though they are strangers to each other, they both have a common tie.
Yep... it's been a trying week here in north Texas. Still, there are silver linings out there. Just have to go looking for them, I guess...
Be Seeing You!
bdharrell
Tuesday I broke down and did something I had not done since five years before the end of the previous regime. I went to a dentist. It started out with a round with the insurance company. They hadn't heard from me and wondered why I wanted to see a dentist after spending for dental insurance for eight years and not seeing a dentist. I calmly explained the situation and finally wound up with an appointment with a rather nice fellow by the name of Bang. He examined me, declared that I had three teeth which had to go, then gave me a letter to take to a dental surgeon to do the dirty deed.
I was in too much pain to disagree.
I walked home, stopping at the drug store to pick up a prescription for some amoxycillin, and encountered a man driving a beautiful black Thunderbird - all original - a 1973 model with only 60k miles. He told me that he admired the car when he was a kid back in '73. It belonged to an uncle of his who he seldom saw. Long story short, the fellow gets a call on his 50th birthday from that uncle who tells him to look out his front door - and sure enough, there was that same T-Bird from nearly 40 years ago! It sounds like a story in the making.
I got back home to more oxycodone, an antibiotic and a phone call from the people who had been trying to get me into a house of my own. There was talk about credit scores and errant credit cards which had been shared between the lovely Miss Carol and myself since 1997. I was hardly amused. I hadn't arrived in Texas yet, and she was way down near Corpus Christie somewhere leading her other life. After hand-wringing and lots of time on the cell phone, we finally came to the conclusion that the nice little place in Plano wasn't meant to be, so, we just backed out of the deal.
Wednesday and Thursday were more of the same. I made arrangements with the realtor to look at three other places more in line with our finances. One was a total wreck to the point where it would be better to bulldoze the place to start over rather than to try to fix what was there - One was nice, but... it backed up to the enormous football stadium built by the school board, and a busy street. The one I marginally liked the best was in a neighborhood I had already looked in. I arrived to displace someone parked in front of it taking notes and in the five minutes it took for my realtor to come to let me in, there was another someone giving the place (and me) the evil eye. At some point later that evening, I was told that the place had recieved 20 visits in 2 days. Wow. Most of the visitors would have noted some of the shortcomings I would have noted and there would doubtless be bids on the place from people claiming to be 'investors'. Doubtless I will see one of them coming into my corner of the retail world wanting flooring for their 'rent house' or for a place they are trying to 'flip', asking if I could do them a special favor and sell them the cheapest goods I have... no doubt at a discount.
I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that when and if I find a place I can afford, I sure as hell will make sure that it wasn't made over by someone using cheap goods to try to impress me. Sure, people have to make a buck, but why do it at the expense of someone who is trying his damndest to find an affordable place to live?
Friday has actually ended up rather nicely, thank you. I only dosed myself with drugs once today - with just plain Kroger aspirin - and have been relatively pain free. Funny. The oxycodone didn't work as well as the product developed by Bayer A.G. late in the nineteenth century! I messaged my realtor and as of a quarter past eight, haven't heard a peep from him. Perhaps I will find a place to lose that piece of paper telling me that it's okay to take money out of my retirement account for the purposes of buying a house. There would be a penalty if I did it now, anyway. The realtor knows where to find me... and somehow I think he might understand.
During the meanwhilst, the writing continues.
I have this kid, Kevin with a screwed up mom about to meet Pastor Dan's kids and Frank the Dog over in Magnolia, and I have a couple of people running from Houston to Tyler because of a robbery and a murder the night before. They'll be in Magnolia before too long... finding that though they are strangers to each other, they both have a common tie.
Yep... it's been a trying week here in north Texas. Still, there are silver linings out there. Just have to go looking for them, I guess...
Be Seeing You!
bdharrell
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Comet - Thon
After looking at the sales of my book on Wednesday, I came away, well, not really disappointed, but reflective of a non-event back in 1973... The Comet Kohoutek.
You remember it, don' t you? The comet of the Century? The impending doom of all mankind? The biggest no-show since the Titanic's expected arrival in New York harbor? Yep... that comet.
Comet Kohoutek was supposed to have been one of the most spectacular sky shows in the history of comets. It was a dud. Maybe next time... with next time being 75,000 years from now. I thought of a 'routine' involving some poor schmuck holding a "Kohoutek Comet-Thon". Yes, sir, only 74,960 years (that's only 27,379,140 days, give or take a leap year) away, folks, so, step right up and get your souveniers!
Every once in a while we run into something or other that's supposed to be better than the invention of sliced bread. Comets, religions, cars, clothing... how about that machine that was supposed to scoot us around without having to go to the trouble of walking? Is that still with us? How about advances like "New Coke"? Ah, the things we miss... NOT!
Just for the record, my expectations as an unknown author releasing a book with a long title and no cover art to speak of were rather low. Maybe a hundred copies. Make a buck or two and that's it. At the moment, though, the count is 11. Just eleven (count 'em) eleven books sold through Amazon.
That's including the one I sold to myself.
Does this mean I am dissatisfied with the results so far? To a degree, yes, but for the most part, no. So far, the people who have read my diminuitive magnum opus have been impressed with the story and the characterizations. I am greatly flattered by their attention and am further flattered by their willingness to spend $3.00 on something I wrote. When I sell 39 more copies, I will actually get money back from Amazon and then I can call myself a professional author.
Maybe I can hook up with the fellow doing the Comet-Thon. I'll make that number eventually... just like the Comet Kohoutek will come back in a blaze of glory.
Eventually.
Be seeing You!
bdharrell
Thursday, February 14, 2013
I'm 29...
It's my favorite line. Jack Benny used it for years on the radio, upping the ante to 39 when he made the switch to televsion. I feel entitled to use the line as Mr. Kubelski and I share the same birthday.
These days, I tell people that I'm 29... with experience.
There are certain advantages to having a birthday on a holiday, as certain other members of my family can attest. I have a sister who was born on Groundhog's day and a brother born on April Fool's day. Add a departed aunt who was born on Christmas Eve (just missed Christmas), a step-daughter born on New Year's Eve and a wife born on March 16th (just missing St. Patrick's Day), and you can see that holidays are a special time at our house. Makes it easy to remember... like having several Lynnes or Linns planted among the family tree.
The biggest disadvantage to having a birthday on Valentine's day has to be finding a place to have a decent meal. The good restaurants are crowded with romantics depleting the world's supply of lobster and chocolate at an alarming rate, leaving little room for a pilgrim celebrating another orbit of his home planet around the sun.
I occasionally find others with my same malady, usually with the same complaint about getting dinner reservations. (I salute you, by the way.) Well, at least it's better than being born on February 29th, although the few people I have known who were leap year babies take it stride. Much better than I, I'll admit.
Time to quit my whining.
The past year has been relatively good to me. The book (bets that I can get a table at "Zeke's" for lunch), the class reunion (yes, realizing that I really did miss those people) and family milestones come to mind. I've really had it good this year whether I want to admit it or not. Looking forward to another birthday... when I'll be 29 all over again!
Be Seeing You.
bdharrell
These days, I tell people that I'm 29... with experience.
There are certain advantages to having a birthday on a holiday, as certain other members of my family can attest. I have a sister who was born on Groundhog's day and a brother born on April Fool's day. Add a departed aunt who was born on Christmas Eve (just missed Christmas), a step-daughter born on New Year's Eve and a wife born on March 16th (just missing St. Patrick's Day), and you can see that holidays are a special time at our house. Makes it easy to remember... like having several Lynnes or Linns planted among the family tree.
The biggest disadvantage to having a birthday on Valentine's day has to be finding a place to have a decent meal. The good restaurants are crowded with romantics depleting the world's supply of lobster and chocolate at an alarming rate, leaving little room for a pilgrim celebrating another orbit of his home planet around the sun.
I occasionally find others with my same malady, usually with the same complaint about getting dinner reservations. (I salute you, by the way.) Well, at least it's better than being born on February 29th, although the few people I have known who were leap year babies take it stride. Much better than I, I'll admit.
Time to quit my whining.
The past year has been relatively good to me. The book (bets that I can get a table at "Zeke's" for lunch), the class reunion (yes, realizing that I really did miss those people) and family milestones come to mind. I've really had it good this year whether I want to admit it or not. Looking forward to another birthday... when I'll be 29 all over again!
Be Seeing You.
bdharrell
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Buy my book or I'll shoot this dog!
This post has nothing to do with animal cruelty or about empty threats to attract attention. It has everything to do with the way my mind works. For instance, I had an image pop into my head of a cover of the National Lampoon depicting a dog with a gun held to its head with the caption "If you don't buy this issue, we'll shoot this dog". It was one of two 'dog' covers from the National Lampoon I recall quite well nearly 40 years later.
Dogs figure into our lives in a way which makes them cleave unto as as family. I never considered myself a 'dog person' but there have been dogs in my life which have afforded me moments of amusement. My son and my stepson both have dogs on either side of the size spectrum... the stepson has a Chihuahua (claims it's Mexican, I claim it to be Hawaiian), the son has what appears to be a black Lab which has been fed with growth hormones of some sort. Both of them play well together, despite the size difference - both of them have roughly the same temprement.
Chico, the Chi-Hua-Hua (bred for chasing pineapple weasels in the vast Hawaiian pineapple mines) was a gift from the step-son's father. He came to live with us after being cast aside when Warren's father died. He integrated well into our little family despite being tormented by the cat. His interaction with me has mostly to do with the fact that I do most of the cooking in the house and the fact that I regularly take him on walks. He's really a good little dog in many respects, but he shows signs of preferring to live like a little old man - except when Faust is around.
Faust is Stuart's dog, supposedly tossed over a fence at his mother's (after having had his dew claws removd and his tail flocked). Faust is lots of fun when he comes over to my place. He's a smart dog... loves to play with Chico... tries to play with the cat. The cat usually retreats to its 'kitty bunker' whenever Faust is around.
Dogs are something I tolerate. I know where and how to make almost any dog a friend, but that's about it. I don't particularly like dogs. I tolerate them. No, I don't hate them. I tolerate them. At the same time, I am fully aware that dogs can have a positive effect on the people who care for them.
I have written a dog into one of the books I am in the process of writing now. The dog's name is Frank-Frank the Dog. He is the guardian of Gracie Stevens, the young daughter of the new minister at the Community Baptist Church. Frank-Frank the Dog (hereafter just shortened to Frank) is a bellweather of sorts, knowing who is and who isn't a threat to Gracie or to either of her brothers (Jacob and Peter). I've patterned Frank after several dogs I have encountered, including Chico, Faust and several other large dogs including a poodle belonging to and Episcopal priest in Cincinnatti. Frank fits in with the laid-back small town ambiance of Magnolia.
-----
Note: Tomorrow (February 11) will be the 42nd day of the year... a time to celebrate Douglas Adams and "Deep Thought". Adams, according to a biography, had a hard time leaving his children alone... "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" being one of them. He was still working on and revising that series of books until the time of his death. I see that as being an easy trap to fall into.
Be Seeing You.
bdharrell
Dogs figure into our lives in a way which makes them cleave unto as as family. I never considered myself a 'dog person' but there have been dogs in my life which have afforded me moments of amusement. My son and my stepson both have dogs on either side of the size spectrum... the stepson has a Chihuahua (claims it's Mexican, I claim it to be Hawaiian), the son has what appears to be a black Lab which has been fed with growth hormones of some sort. Both of them play well together, despite the size difference - both of them have roughly the same temprement.
Chico, the Chi-Hua-Hua (bred for chasing pineapple weasels in the vast Hawaiian pineapple mines) was a gift from the step-son's father. He came to live with us after being cast aside when Warren's father died. He integrated well into our little family despite being tormented by the cat. His interaction with me has mostly to do with the fact that I do most of the cooking in the house and the fact that I regularly take him on walks. He's really a good little dog in many respects, but he shows signs of preferring to live like a little old man - except when Faust is around.
Faust is Stuart's dog, supposedly tossed over a fence at his mother's (after having had his dew claws removd and his tail flocked). Faust is lots of fun when he comes over to my place. He's a smart dog... loves to play with Chico... tries to play with the cat. The cat usually retreats to its 'kitty bunker' whenever Faust is around.
Dogs are something I tolerate. I know where and how to make almost any dog a friend, but that's about it. I don't particularly like dogs. I tolerate them. No, I don't hate them. I tolerate them. At the same time, I am fully aware that dogs can have a positive effect on the people who care for them.
I have written a dog into one of the books I am in the process of writing now. The dog's name is Frank-Frank the Dog. He is the guardian of Gracie Stevens, the young daughter of the new minister at the Community Baptist Church. Frank-Frank the Dog (hereafter just shortened to Frank) is a bellweather of sorts, knowing who is and who isn't a threat to Gracie or to either of her brothers (Jacob and Peter). I've patterned Frank after several dogs I have encountered, including Chico, Faust and several other large dogs including a poodle belonging to and Episcopal priest in Cincinnatti. Frank fits in with the laid-back small town ambiance of Magnolia.
-----
Note: Tomorrow (February 11) will be the 42nd day of the year... a time to celebrate Douglas Adams and "Deep Thought". Adams, according to a biography, had a hard time leaving his children alone... "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" being one of them. He was still working on and revising that series of books until the time of his death. I see that as being an easy trap to fall into.
Be Seeing You.
bdharrell
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Anxiety
I am about three weeks into my adventure in selling a book and I have started to feel a little bit of anxiety about the whole thing. I'm not worried about the money... at least not yet... I am anxious about getting feedback from readers.
So far, the feedback has been positive, albeit limited... most of it coming from friends of mine either personally or via e-mail. That's okay. I think.
Then there's the feedback from my harshest critic.
Me.
There were still a few tweaks and tucks I could have put into the finished product which I didn't. Glenn Michaels' crisis of conscience at the beginning of the book could have been more pronounced, for instance. But the fact of the matter is that if I did still yet another re-write, the book would have been delayed, hence delaying the sequel I am working on at the moment.
Perhaps I could do what Douglas Adams did with The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - in his biography it was mentioned that Adams never thought of any of his works as being complete. "Hitchhikers" went from being a radio play to a television series to a book to a movie, each verion being just a little bit different from the one previous.
Too much work or not enough? There has to be balance in there somewhere.
In the meantime, I'll let be what is while doing countless re-writes of the next project(s) involving some of the characters you've already met in Magnolia, as well as characters who have been swimming around in my head for over 30 years, now.
Oh, and thanks for the feedback. Now, tell others.
Be Seeing You!
bdharrell
So far, the feedback has been positive, albeit limited... most of it coming from friends of mine either personally or via e-mail. That's okay. I think.
Then there's the feedback from my harshest critic.
Me.
There were still a few tweaks and tucks I could have put into the finished product which I didn't. Glenn Michaels' crisis of conscience at the beginning of the book could have been more pronounced, for instance. But the fact of the matter is that if I did still yet another re-write, the book would have been delayed, hence delaying the sequel I am working on at the moment.
Perhaps I could do what Douglas Adams did with The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - in his biography it was mentioned that Adams never thought of any of his works as being complete. "Hitchhikers" went from being a radio play to a television series to a book to a movie, each verion being just a little bit different from the one previous.
Too much work or not enough? There has to be balance in there somewhere.
In the meantime, I'll let be what is while doing countless re-writes of the next project(s) involving some of the characters you've already met in Magnolia, as well as characters who have been swimming around in my head for over 30 years, now.
Oh, and thanks for the feedback. Now, tell others.
Be Seeing You!
bdharrell
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