This week my book is finally heading off to the printer. I should be overly excited that it will finally be in print. I have dreamt about this for years just waiting for the day that I might walk into a book store and see my book on a shelf.
I have worked on Seventh Earth for more than two years. I have poured countless hours into writing, rewriting and then writing again. I have spent sleepless nights developing characters, devising plots and filling in holes. I have written in bookstores, empty offices, libraries, parked cars, moving cars, locked bedrooms, hotel rooms, parks, and restaurants. I have pounded my fists in frustration and cheered with joy. I have been through three career changes, seen the birth of my fourth child, purchased two dogs, three cars and experienced one recession all while writing. Yes, I should be overly excited. But at least for now, excitement is not what I am feeling.
As I'm sure like any other author, writing a book is more than laying out a plot, developing interesting characters and figuring out a creative way to get from "Once upon a time" to "And they lived happily ever after." Rather, writing a book is more akin to delicately extracting one's very soul and descriptively laying it all out for everyone to see on several hundred 8X5, off-white, recycled pages. So at least for now its not excitement that I feel but rather a feeling comparable, I imagine, to trying out for American Idol on national TV. I just hope however, that I'm the one the producers have chosen to perform in front of the judges not because I am completely void of talent but rather completely engulfed in it.