After nearly 10 years, my first novel is finally meeting the world. The copies are circulating and reviews are coming in. I’ve shifted gears from author to marketer with what feels like breakneck speed, but after nearly 25 years of foundation marketing and communications work, it’s fairly cozy territory. It’s rather like dressing your 18-year-0ld daughter in a big fancy dress and parading her around at a debutante ball — you know there’s a lot of substance there, but you have to get people to look first.
However, I find I have to pause for a moment and reflect. After all, it’s the culmination of a decade of writing, re-writing, then re-writing some more. Of watching characters grow and change as they take shape to the rhythm of my typing. Of feeling guilty for leaving my family for a morning or afternoon and not buying nearly as much coffee as I should for the time I’ve sat in the local coffee house. And at the same time feeling flush with excitement as a new twist reveals itself or another section emerges complete.
I’ve come to realize that no one ever really writes a book on their own. Even pages of acknowledgements can’t honor everyone who provided me with encouragement, comfort and inspiration. The thanks is universal — and constant.
Yes, it’s really happening. I am simultaneously thrilled and terrified. Look for me on (gulp) Amazon and ask for me in your indie book store!