Debbie of Friesenpress, to her credit, needed to coerce me to hand over the manuscript for review. I held it tight, unwilling. She reminded me that it will not resemble its current state by the time it gets to publication.
Debbie was correct.
So imagine my surprise at the editor’s response to my manuscript submission.
And I quote, “I am very impressed with this manuscript. It feels like it was written by a seasoned author who has spent years developing his craft. In terms of tone, for me it lands somewhere between William Gibson and David Mitchell. It’s highly literary, authoritatively technical, and it asks some intriguing ethical questions.”
High praise indeed. Validation for the question burning behind my eyes at all times, "is this book any good?"
One day, at the suggestion of my wife, I approached a Canadian publisher, Friesenpress, to inquire about their publishing process.
“So, you wrote a book,” Debbie said to me.
Imagine hearing those words, and what that was like to hear from an industry professional. Admittedly not a submission to a traditional publisher, however, as I’m sure all writers can imagine, the emotional acknowledgement of the achievement (of writing a novel!) from someone uninvolved is surprisingly, well, emotional.
I feel so liminal.
Or is it interstitial? In between in either case.
Aviation had my undivided attention for decades, I couldn’t have imagined doing anything else.
Yet here I am, about to release a debut novel, and while the book contains several aviation moments, it is largely based on topics of which in comparison, I am certainly no expert.
While I wait patiently for a professional review, I shall keep myself busy posting here about the experience of (self)-publishing with Friesenpress.
Stay tuned for information Charlie…
It’s where I write from. An un-windowed space. My face is the colour of computer, illuminated by screens from all sides.