I made a thing
She’s here, and her cries break the silence.
Is that a bit dramatic? Yes. But hey, I just birthed a creative baby. My first creative baby. You know I can remember when I decided I was going to do this. Did I have any idea how much work it would be?
After five years of write, re-write, cry, give up, re-write, beg people to read, find editor, worry about query, design, buy, sell, market, who’s your audience, etc. It’s finalized, and out in the world. Did I realize how much work this would be?
Yes and No.
Writing a book is a labor of love. I’m convinced that people only do it because they have to (at first anyways). I’m excited I’m nervous and ultimately, just launching out into the world of self-pub is daunting. Some projects would never see the light of day without it.
This one included.
Somewhere along the way there must be realism about what a book is and can become. I think it might be something like dreaming of having a child that loves sports as much as you do then have it end up a total bookworm. You can make something of your own accord, and love it with all your heart, but once it’s out in the world, it becomes its own thing.
An artist friend of mine gave me that advice eons ago after I was upset that he called my poem “not a poem but something that I wrote.” I’ll never forget that, in fact I’m still mad at him about it. Long story short, once any piece of art leaves the creator and becomes part of the collective it doesn’t belong to them anymore. Its whatever people want to think it is, it’s however they connect to it. That’s the purpose of art after all. I’ve gotten a lot of advice of this nature this week, and it’s perfect. I hope that we never stop reminding ourselves that we are all part of something bigger.
So, here she is in all her glory. Please consider reading/buying/sharing/reviewing independent writers, artists, musicians. We all put a lot into what goes out.