This little book has taught me that an awful lot is involved in writing, publishing, and marketing a book, and I haven’t even done the brunt of the work, or started the marketing process yet. Though my publisher is guiding me through all of this, and I am eternally grateful for that, I’m still exhausted; therefore, I cannot envision a sequel at this time. I’m not young, have some health issues, and want to travel and golf and fish with my friends while we are all still alive. That being said, when a former Smithson Valley colleague and friend of mine, Belinda Sessions, previewed the book, she immediately said: “what? No peacock?” She was right; I didn’t include Peter the peacock and Lily the peahen from my farm in my book. I have to admit, way back in the deep recesses of my insanity her question teased a “hey, there’s a sequel in there somewhere”. Shakespeare in Hamlet might have stated it as: Oh, what madness is this? It did get me to wondering whether writing can, as Nothing New Sue would say, “get in your blood”? So, I suppose, with time, maybe, and if I did, it would certainly address generalizations and stereotypes more. Students are terrible about using generalizations, because they have fewer life experiences that make them pay attention to detail. All the Same Rayne generalizes and uses stereotyping both when she says “all red chickens get mad all the time”.
Another thing I have learned after getting published is that being a writer can be all-consuming, and I’m not sure I know how much farther to push myself when I’m already on meds to keep mania at bay. Let’s just say my writing career will be a work in progress. If new book ideas pop into my head, and I can catch up on my rest, and balance it with some healthy exercise and recreation, who knows, maybe the Muse will move me again. If it does, though, I’m not sure it would be a sequel. I know young people may want more of Street-Talk Walt, or even Short-Cut Sean, but I may want to open up my writing to other farm animals, like my quarter horse, Legacy, and her foal, Freckles, or my first little Brangus calf, Cocoa, or the meanest bull I ever owned that nearly killed me by rolling a six-foot bale over me before I could get the hay twine cut free. I never did find that six inch blade he buried under the hay pile. I didn’t name him until after that episode, and it wouldn’t be appropriate to tell you what it was. You don’t keep a bull around after something like that, no matter how many great calves he “throws” (rancher’s term for sires). So, off he went as a trade to the rancher from which he first came. I could also write about Legacy’s momma throwing me. That was an awful summer: fractured pelvis, separated shoulder, broken ribs, punctured lungs, and no, I didn’t keep her, either.
Anyway, let’s just wait and see what unfolds and what life has in store for all of us from this brand new, little career of mine. For now, I hope you can enjoy BeaSpeak, learn to be patient with me and know how I deeply I appreciate your support.