Yesterday I turned in the New Book. I sat at my keyboard, my finger poised over the “send” button, awaiting my fanfare or at the very least a hallway lined with hand-shakers and well-wishers.
What I got instead was a queasy stomach and an early pepto-bismal bedtime (but was it the book or the street falafal?)
It’s a hard thing to do, to put your baby out there into the world. Now, granted, “the world” is currently just my editor and my agent – both lovely people who want nothing but the best for me – and if it’s a bunch of 12-point, double-spaced junk they will let me know and we’ll shiny-up the messy bits long before any of you get a peek at it.
But it’s still hard to let it go. Truth be told, I’ve been sitting on it for at least a month – making little tweaks here and there, only to go back the next day and tweak the tweaks back again. Basically I could have and perhaps should have turned it in then, but there is just always that little Goblin on my shoulder telling me that inspiration, like a bolt from the blue, could strike tomorrow and illuminate all the hidden problems and untapped potential.
Shut up Goblin, I’m on a schedule here.
The book is done.
Now comes the hard part.