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Grits are Bubbling

The Grits are hot and bubbling — well, The Trouble with Grits is published, available in book stores, and on its way. I have found that the trouble with getting a book out and going is the same as the trouble with grits, there are going to be some lumps to work through.

Right about the time I heaved a big sign of happiness and relief that the manuscript was done and uploaded and in the proof stage, a great big lump came bobbing to the surface. I had corrected the paperback version, duplicated the correction for the hardback, and went to do the same for the Kindle version, only to discover that the un-proofed manuscript had gone live on Amazon with all its inglorious errors. Worse yet, someone had purchased a copy, read it, and reviewed it. They said it was “a good read,” but that it had problems and left a loft of questions unanswered.  I’ll say! It was a fairly early version and was a typo minefield. Not only that, it was missing the last two chapters. Talk about unanswered questions. I can only say thank you for the good read assessment and apologize for the glitch.

This all came together the night before I was to leave on a long-planned vacation. But finally, all the bugs were worked out, the corrected — and correct – versions were in place, and hard copies were ordered. Another big sigh here.

Things seemed to have smoothed out– for a week anyway, until today when I hit the road for the first official TTWG events. I was making my way toward Mt. Airy, NC for my first book signing when, near Montgomery, Ala.,  I saw a Hank Williams Museum sign. My enthusiasm for the historical site was enhanced by the fact that a gas station was promised on the same road sign and I had enjoyed a good bit of coffee before leaving home, so I took the exit.  Vangie’s daddy (Vangie is the main character in Grits) just loved the Hanks — Hank Williams and Hank Snow, so I figured it was only right to take her by there and kill a couple of birds with one stop, so to speak.

Georgiana, Ala. is not right off I-65 and neither was the gas station or the Hank Williams Museum. I traveled along, reasonably patiently, until I finally got to the town. It unfortunately has seen more prosperous days and I was worried that I had made a wrong turn somewhere and ended up nowhere near any Hanks that I would recognize. After a few twists and turns, I no longer saw signs for the museum or anything else that looked promising. I have a handicap; I was born without a sense of direction, so I could well have been on my way to Atlanta, Georgia instead of Georgiana, Alabama. Google Maps had no signal out there either. I finally did find the gas station, or at least A gas station, so I killed one bird and asked about the other one. I was, indeed, in Georgiana, and a very nice lady directed me toward the museum. I got there just fine and let Vangie take a rest on  the porch with Hank’s wooden Indian, and then proceeded to lose my way again hunting I-65. God loves me, so after a few scenic detours and some wild guesses, I was back on the road, with no more lumps. Well, Waffle House was out of Bert’s chili to top my cheese omelet, but I made the best of it. After all, as Gator says, “You cain’t never git ALL the lumps out.