The breathless part of releasing a book—hitting “place order.”
It’s a bit like holiday shopping, this book creation deal. I never really feel as if I finish; there’s a point when I just have to stop.
Oh there will be a typo or two or three. No matter that I have gone through the copy a gazillion times, or that I have a jam-up editor, or that I have proofed the advanced copy to find a few last-minute things to tweak.
They lurk, those minor glitches, all na-na-na-boo-boo. Keeping me human. And humble. And imperfect.
In the end, I know I have to release it to the world or never have time to write yet another piece of fiction, to revise and revise and edit and edit.
But my mama speaks up: the expert on everything and anything; the little, kind voice I hear in my head when self-doubt keeps me awake at night; the leader of my cheering section no matter that she’s not on this side of reality now.
“Do the very best you can do, honey. Then rest easy.”
To that end, I nudge my latest novel, Parade of Horribles, into the world. It’s not perfect but it’s mine.
Good travels, little book. Go forth and touch the people you need to touch. I will remain behind, ready to let the muses take over once more.
Southern fiction author