The many ways I have screwed up

The paperback version of Dawn Hyperdrive and the Galactic Handbag of Death launched yesterday.  And while I'm grateful it's out and excited to reach a whole bunch of people who eschew e-readers on principle, the process of launching it has showed me yet again that the flaws in my psyche which I thought had tucked their tails and run are still with me.  And I'm going to trot them out for you, digital reader, whoever you are, if you exist, primarily because I want to warn myself against them again and send them running for a while if I can.

The biggest one is pride.  When I imagined becoming a published author, I assumed I would have people.  You know what I mean - the people actors in bad eighties movies meant when  they said, "I'll have my people call your people."  Part of me is surprised that I don't have agents and publishers and their minions banging down my door and begging to register my ISBNs, enter orders for my books at the printer, and arrange distribution.  And the more I let that pride spread its tail feathers in my soul, the less I'll be willing to say, "I don't know how this works.  I don't understand this process.  I am willing to learn.  I am willing to do whatever needs to be done."  I need to remember that I'm not a big shot.  I'm my own minion.

I'm also stubborn.  If I get an idea in my head, I don't let it go.  For instance, I got an idea in my head that before I did anything else for the print edition, I needed to see a proof.  I needed to go through a physical book in my hand to find all of the errors.  Only when the physical book in my hand was perfect could I register it, find out how to sell it, link Paypal accounts to widgets, and look at all of the rest of the work that needed to be done.  Because I let my stubbornness bray in the corners of my soul like a mule, I ended up doing things that could have been done months ago all at the last minute.

Boy, turtles are ugly.  Their heads look like snake heads, and they've got gross claws and yucky feet.  But what this guy is doing is totally me.  When I feel pressure, I tuck inside a shell.  I don't talk to anyone, even to people who could help.  I don't want to bother them.  They're busy.  I can do this myself.  I'll think about it later.  This kind of thinking really sets me back.  And I will be much happier when I can lift my head up and talk, when I can say out loud, "I need help.  I want you to help me.  I am really far behind, and I don't know what to do next."

I may not have people, in the sense of soulless ciphers that exist to do my bidding, but I do have friends and partners around me.  Like all human beings, I'm a herd animal.  I can ask for advice.  I can tell the rest of the herd what's happening.  I can let other people check my stubbornness and hubris and blind self-effacement.

Until I get a publishing deal - then I'll have people.

Shut up.
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