Well, Long Live the Suicide King is now in the world. It’s in the collection of books that human beings have produced. I have an ISBN for it, which is the second ISBN I have. Two down and another hundred to go. Edgar Rice Burroughs said that if you wrote a hundred books, at least a couple might be good. So that is the plan.
Now, I’ve been asked if the second time is better, worse, easier, harder?
It’s infinitely easier. Like sex.
My first time with actual sex was a disaster. I won’t go into details, but let’s just say no one, not the warmest, fuzziest romance writer nor the sleaziest porn producer could capture the tragi-comedy of my first sexual experience. But I’d like to think I got better with the whole sex thing. I did it right at least twice: both the sex thing and the book thing.
I wrote the book, edited the book, and got the book out into the world. Which for me is a minor miracle. I used to write books and book and books and then shelve them because I was too afraid to query agents or editors. And I knew that what I had was blech, but my next idea? My next magnum opus would shatter the publishing world with its brilliance. With the fire of a new idea scorching me, I would start with the lovely blank page and churn out another novel no one would ever read. And so on and so on and so on. It was good practice, but in the end, for me, if I am not seeking out readers, writing becomes an exercise of self-pleasure. And that is what I did alone for years and years.
I don’t get to sit on books anymore. I’ve spent decades working on my writing, and for me to not share my books with the world because of self-centered fear is a crime. And sad. I’ve lived most of my life too terrified to move, but not anymore.
Yes, the second book was easier. I know so much more about pre-orders, about reviews, about starting early, about the kind of marketing material I need. And I didn’t dread my book launches because a book launch is a party I throw for all the people I love.
I’m excited about hand-selling my new book, however odd it might be. The Never Prayer had a nice hook. Angels, demons, love, sure. The new book is my happy, little suicide book. It’s funny, but yeah, it’s about suicide. Yikes. However, it’s also about hope, donuts, Christian girls, the ‘hood, and a very Laurence Fishburne villain.
Like 13 Reasons Why meets The Matrix! Without the sci-fi element.
Yes, I’m still nervous about having another book out there. And yeah, I have high hopes and impossible dreams swimming around in my head, but do you know what?
I’m enjoying the process.
For right this second, I don’t need riches and fame to be happy about my writing career. I’m enjoying where I am and what I am doing right now, which is a miracle. And at times? I even pine for my pre-published days!
But that is a waste, longing for the past.
I’m doing the deal right now. I’m writing books and I’m finding publishers for them. Not big publishers, but publishers, and I’m excited about the prospect of going rogue and independently publishing.
So to celebrate, I’ll be doing a little giveaway, not just my new book, Long Live the Suicide King, but also Black by Catherine Winters and The Prophetess: At Risk by Linda Rohrbough.
All you have to do is leave a comment on this post by the end of Saturday (May 3rd) that describes one good thing about the writing life you are experiencing right now. Or, if you’re not a writer, something good about reading books, owning books, buying books, shelving books, underlining books, or anything book!
I’ll mail you out the books and it will be epic! Free books!
Life is sweet!
Aaron Michael Ritchey’s first novel, The Never Prayer, was published in March of 2012 to a fanfare of sparkling reviews including an almost win in the RMFW Gold contest. Since then he’s been paid to write steampunk, cyberpunk, and sci-fi western short stories, two of which will appear in a new fiction magazine, FICTIONVALE. His second novel, Long Live the Suicide King, is out and giving hope to the masses. As a former story addict and television connoisseur, he lives in Colorado with his wife and two ancient goddesses posing as his daughters.