to publish or not to publish
I did a thing. A publisher liked my book, and they wanted to talk with me. To “pick apart some details.” I had no freaking clue what that meant, except I was so nervous puking was a real possibility.
They were nice. Said nice things to me and about my writing. Explained their company and how it all works. We talked about our cats. It was a good conversation.
I was honest about things like, “I have no clue what I’m doing.”
I’m about 80% thrilled. Thinking this is a brilliant opportunity and one I should seize. The other whatever percent is like, “Oh my god, if I publish my book, then people might read it!!” And I mean that with astonishing dread, not excitement.
Fear of failure is a real thing.
My mother said to me, “remember that you are smart and creative.” I said, “thank you and please remind me sometimes.”
I’m like a chipmunk hopping around with no clear aim while trying to make this decision. It’s what I want. For a publisher to read my manuscript and like it and want to turn it into a book. But I can not stop the cacophony of thoughts in my head. Ooh, I get to write an acknowledgements page. I’ve always wanted to do that. What about the bad reviews, when people realize I’m a boring old housewife with nothing new to say? I hope the cover is pretty. Not that it matters because we all know better than to judge a book by its cover, but let’s be real the cover needs to be pretty. Is it cheesy? Romance is a genre that isn’t universally respected. It veers toward chick lit, but again, that’s sometimes the butt of a joke. Who am I kidding? I have nothing worth sharing with the world! Imposter Syndrome, also a real thing. I’ll dedicate it to my mom. Maybe also Maggie Stiefvater, because at that writing workshop she said if we get published we should dedicate it to her. Is this even real!?
