I have a novel in my figurative drawer. It’s middle grade–that’s ages 7-13ish for those of you just tuning in–with an action/adventure plot. It sounds a bit dystopian, but is actually based on a historical place, with a bit of drama and culture-boggling to keep things running. I finished writing it last January, and the editing is completely done. Several readers have taken a gander at it and claimed to like it.
Of course, there’s one more quality missing that makes it Schrodinger’s novel: it’s that I have no intention of doing anything with it. Sound familiar to any of you?
You didn’t read my wrong; I’m not querying my manuscript, and I’m not readying it for self-publication. Why? Because the beauty of Schrodinger’s novel is the very uncertainty of it. A book that is never published is both a best-seller and a slush-pile denizen, and until I try, it’s neither. Fear of…
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