Writing a book can be frightening. There are times I wonder if I’m capable of doing the story justice; there are places and characters and plots in my head, but what if I can’t translate those onto the page? What if I end up sharing a bastardized version of them with the world?
Then there’s the fear of losing someone. I think a lot of people who read can relate; even though a story or character is fictional, you’re devoting part of your life to spend time with them, and sometimes losing them hurts. I think it’s just as hard on the writer, especially if we didn’t see it coming, but we have to do what’s right for the story.
For me, possibly the most frightening part is releasing the book into the world, and not knowing how people will react. It’s like I’ve raised a bird since it was an egg, and now it’s time to set it free to fly, and I really hope someone doesn’t shoot it out of the sky as soon as it leaves my hands.
Obviously, not everyone is going to like my writing, and every writer gets negative reviews. That’s part of the process. People have different tastes, and you can’t expect a book to sit well with everyone. There’s so much I love about writing, I’d keep doing it if nobody liked my work. Still, that anxiety that accompanies releasing a book exists. I’m pretty sure by now it’s inescapable. I could release 99 books that each get a hundred five-star reviews, and I’ll still feel it just before I release book 100.
I’m not trying to complain. That anxiety is also accompanied by a sense of excitement, especially if I’m proud of the book I’ve written. It’s a double-sided coin, and I think if I wasn’t anxious, I might not be excited, either.
So far my books are being well-received. I’m thrilled to see the reviews come in, most of them very positive, and I can’t thank you enough. I have a few one- and two-star ratings, and I can’t complain. Theoretically, every rating is followed by a reading. Someone took time out of their life to read something I wrote. That is its own reward; someone twice my age, someone half my age, someone sitting in a country I’ll probably never see with my own eyes has read something I’ve created.
If you’re that someone, thank you. There are millions of books out there, billions of characters you could’ve spent your time with, and you chose mine. That’s an incredible honor. We’re on this earth for a limited time, and to have anyone spend theirs on me is a humbling experience.
I hope you enjoyed it. I’m sorry if you didn’t. Either way, I’m thankful you gave it a chance.
Faded Pages 