How, oh how?

When I lived in England (briefly, in the late 1980s), I used to watch a comedy variety program called "The Alexei Sayle Show." It was probably just awful, but in college it made me laugh so hard I cried. One character in particular, named Larry, really stands out in my memory. Larry was a lounge singer/advice guru.

Example (and you'll have to picture a somewhat portly, very bald man in purple polyester and sequins, seated near a piano with one of those cheesy, skinny microphones in hand), "People say to me, 'Larry--whoo, oh, Larry--how, oh, how do I get to Chichester avoiding road work on the M1?' And I tell them...."

It's sad, really, that I remember so much of that sketch after all these years. But I couldn't resist quoting Larry today, because a lot of people have been asking me, "Erin--whoo, oh, Erin--how, oh, how did you write and publish a novel with your busy schedule?"

Two parts to the answer:

1. With one hell of a lot of help. 
2. I don't know.

1. The help. Man, I had a lot of help. I mentioned some of that help recently--graphics and photography. Wow. But I also had people reading and re-reading various iterations of the book. Lawyers (excuse me, attorneys), finance experts, M&A types, insurance people, et cetera. Their feedback was always valuable and sometimes entertaining, ranging from, "Yes, that's pretty much how a deposition goes," to, "I can't believe how well you know this business (insurance)," to, "Needs more sex." (Although that may have been the reader's personal lamentation; I didn't ask for details.)

Moving on...

2. I don't know how I did it. I know why I did it, though. I mentioned in my first entry that I was getting a little nutty. True confession time: I think I had a mini-breakdown in the fall of 2008. I felt myself slowly slipping away into a world of endless soccer car pools, homework, trips to Abercrombie and battles of will with a pre-schooler. Now, don't assume this means I was unhappy. I wasn't. I was just...well...a little lost, I guess. Nothing major; no drama. Just a quiet realization that I had to do something for me. And I'm really not the sort for spa days or retail therapy.

So I started writing. And writing, and writing, and writing. And it felt really, really good. It felt right, in fact.

Not the best answer to how I did it. But it is an honest one.