Sometimes a goiter is just a goiter.  Sometimes it's a cancerous tumor.  And sometimes it's a life-changing event that stirs one to step outside the box.  Two of these occurred early in 2011, one to my husband, the other to me.  The goiter was his, and it wasn't lethal (only cumbersome).  In learning that goiter wasn't malignant, I stepped outside the comfort zone, what I thought was the comfort zone for a writer, the usual path of query letters, the quest for an agent.  Because, what if life changes on a dime?  My husband's did, finding he didn't have thyroid cancer.  Subsequently so did mine.

Publishing independently was a decision initially stirred by the realization of life's precariousness, and possible brevity.  My spouse's, mine too.  With such little time, why wait?  Why not take the bull by the horns and go for it?  Once I made that choice, burdens lifted, ones unexpected.  No longer did my manuscripts need to fall within that 80-100K word count.  No longer did I fear being misunderstood; my writing centers on love and death, disabilities and sexuality, religion and baseball.  I didn't have to worry if these themes were palatable to agents or editors or publishers.  Suddenly, I could write what I wanted, at whatever length the story called for, and feel no noose around my neck!

That was one part of the liberation.  The other was owning my work and when I ponder that in depth, I'm wild with glee.  In that giddy freedom, I offer these novels unfettered and open for any and all interpretation.  Writing is a gift, not of my own accord.  In that sense, publishing independently is even more important, no way to corral or shoehorn that sort of art.  That goiter has since bitten the dust, but my writing was meant to be shared, all I want to do with it.  As an independent novelist, there are no boundaries, no limits.  Enjoy the words, and watch out for unsuspecting bulges in the neck!  They might be a pain, but aren't always a hindrance.