On December 5, 2017, I completed the book I began in the summer of 2008. That’s nearly ten years of something just hanging around taking up my mental processes and time.
I don’t have kids, and I know that in 1,567,492 ways, writing a book is nothing like having a child. I also know that in a few ways, it is. I’ve heard writing a book compared to having a baby, but in my experience was more like raising a child. Perhaps if you’re the kind of person who can (and has the time to) churn books out once a year, it would be more like birthing a baby – and maybe the more you do it, the more it becomes like that as opposed to my experience.
But for me, it was a long, stretched-out process of feelings of ineptitude mixed with excitement and fear and perseverance interspersed with procrastination and decisions I had a hard time making – watching it change and become something I didn’t exactly plan and had less control of than I understood.
Releasing it was kind of like I imagine it is to send your kids off to college. “OK, I’ve done my best with you; it’s time to let you go,” all the while, biting your nails and hoping he does OK out there in the real world.
But I still see all the other things I could have done to make it better, the mistakes I made, the hopes and dreams I have for it.
So, fly, little book, fly – go forth and inspire, delight, entertain.
(Hoping for siblings to follow faster, but not holding my breath!)
If you’re interested in reading my book, it’s sort of a cross between The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis and A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle. You can check it out on Amazon (paperback or Kindle): The Worlds Next Door by C.E. White.