I tried juggling once. As Dirty Harry famously said, “Man’s got to know his limitations.” I eventually reached a fair and equitable agreement with the Force of Gravity wherein I don’t defy it with little balls or bags or bowling pins, and it leaves my plane unmolested at 30,000 feet. Everybody’s happy.
Metaphorically, though, I’m juggling faster than ever. Took long enough to write my book. Took way, way longer than I expected to cobble together this website (Best tip you’ll get today: Hire someone and hang the cost). Then I had to come up with some book cover ideas for my artist, do a ton of reading about marketing (Did you know Amazon has about 13,000 categories of books? You people need to focus), and, oh, just learn a lot of stuff I didn’t previously know. (I am now a quasi-expert on “keywords and categories.” Earlier Bob would assume that Future Me is some sort of game show host.)
Plus, I’ve still got to get a mailing list set up, get a Facebook page built, sign up some advance readers, get the book formatted and uploaded, and do a bunch of other chores. But all that will get done and I’ll launch this thing in the spring if it kills me. Then I can settle into the serious business of writing a follow-up book. I have a bunch of notes, snippets, and jottings toward such, all of which appear to be failing to self-organize or reproduce in the fashion of even the simplest multi-cellular organism. I don’t mind editing, but is it too much to ask the words to form themselves into a rough first draft? Such are the travails of the authoring business.