Rejoice! William Short Is Published And Put To Bed

Yesterday our postman delivered my two sample copies of William F. Short’s 1854 Diary, a book Ginny and I transcribed and edited together. It really proved a challenge for us. The saga of our struggles to produce this book are recorded in my July 2^nd posting and following.

The cover of the published book, pictured here, reproduces the old leather cover of the manuscript diary—enlarged many times. It’s now available at www.bluefishbooks.info .

I urged Ginny to carry her copy in to work with her to show off to her co-workers, but she seems reluctant to—doesn’t want her name associated with mine in her office, I suppose. But I’m proud of the work we did on this. I could not have published this one without her help.

I added my own copy to my vanity shelf.

And there it sits.

Recently I have seen myself as a preservationist. This tattered old diary, record of a man’s life and loves from 150 years ago, would have moldered in a dust bin, had I not rescued it and published it.

Now, thanks to my efforts, it can molder on a much wider scale.

Who reads this stuff anyhow?

However, finally putting Short to bed means I have to move on to the next project—whatever that is. Again, I face the dilemma of deciding what to do next.

The space between finishing one book and starting another pains me.

I despair.

The rush of getting one book finished, the thrill, the sense of accomplishment, dims when I contemplate what to do next.

Of course, the only question for a Christian is, “Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do”?

Nothing else matters.

But I find the process of finding the will of God and answering that question unsettles me. I make lists of book ideas, I wallow in indecision. I weigh factors. I consider marketability. I ponder whether or not readers will be helped. I pray and worry and question and reconsider and worry…

And the time factor overshadows all.

I’ve just turned 70. I’m unlikely to have time to finish writing about all the ideas on my lists. And I wonder if I haven’t run my course. Do I have anything useful or uplifting to say.

And considering the financial success of the twenty or so books I’ve already written or edited, is it time now to recognize my failure, admit defeat, and stop pissing against the wind?

Be all that as it may, once again I enter the doldrums of writing, adrift between one project and the next….

Now, look what I’ve done. I started writing this to celebrate the publication of my latest book and I’ve turned it into a pity party for John Cowart! Woe is me! Woe is me!

Ginny says that were I to win the Lotto jackpot, I’ve view it as a problem.

Alright already. I’ve published William F. Short’s 1854 Diary. Today it goes on sale. Buyers line up on the right. No shoving. There are plenty of copies for everybody.

Today, poor J.K. Rowling frets and weeps and wrings her hands knowing that my book will bump that Harry Potter wimp of hers off the best seller list. Don’t cry, Joanne, maybe someday 150 years from now some guy will find an old copy of your book in a dustbin and publish it for his generation—like I did with William Short’s Diary.

See there, I can too rejoice over my latest publishing triumph.

I’m rejoicing, damnit, I’m rejoicing.