I wrote a book.
That’s a very satisfying sentence.
I’ve been sitting on it since the end of my freshman year of high school.
Less satisfying, even though I’m only a junior, so my freshman year wasn’t long ago.
I’ve been working on figuring out the indie market, and yesterday decided I was finally ready to publish it. I set myself a release date – 13 June, in case you were curious – and went to work on final editing and a whole heaping lot of promo art. So far I’m having a very good time – I always enjoy drawing things in my stories, and when I edited this time I read it aloud and played with accents – but I’m also panicking a little. I can’t help it. It’s been two years since I finished this story, and the only feedback I’ve gotten has been, “It’s good.” I gave early copies to almost everyone in my family, as well as several friends, and over two years all I have is “it’s good.” “It’s good” does not help me. “It’s good” does not give me a hint of whether or not people will care. “It’s good” honestly doesn’t mean anything. I got that from my family. They’re pretty much required to tell me “it’s good.”
I like my story a lot; it’s my baby, and even though I’m almost sick to death of reading it and editing it (and reading and editing and reading and editing and oh God save me from reading and editing), it has a very special place in my heart. So I guess it kind of makes sense that I’m frightened of sending it out into the world all on its own. I’m afraid people won’t like it, or, maybe worse, that they won’t care.
That’s all I want, is for someone to care. I want to write something that means something, a story in which the emotions and characters are real and alive enough to stay with someone once they finish reading it. I feel like this story might almost have that, but I don’t know for sure. I can never know until I send it out there. But I don’t want to send it out until I know.
I suppose there wasn’t much point to this post, was there? It’s like a story in that way, I suppose. It’s just a way to tell the world how I feel. I find it a lot easier to do that through writing than in person. I guess that’s why I write…and why I so badly hope that somebody, somewhere might pick up Peace in Paradise and keep a little piece of it with them forever. So that somebody, somewhere, might keep a little piece of me with them forever.
So that quiet little me might actually mean something, in the end.