So the thing I didn’t expect, happened.
The thing I was warned about.
I let people (two, not the entire world…) read Chapters 1 & 2 of The Book. (Okay I also sent it to my bestie just minutes before starting this blog post, so, three people…).
And guess what?
They want to read more.
My mom, especially, is more than eager to read more. She said all the words that could go straight to an aspiring author’s head. Now, I know my mom loves me. But, I don’t believe she’d continue to bring up The Book every time I spoke to her – asking to read more – telling me how amazing it is – if she didn’t truly mean it.
She’s always been an honest person, and she knows how little false confidence would actually help me.
Am I surprised that people actually want to continue reading The Book? Yes.
Am I pleased that endless hours of writing, revising and editing are resulting in readers actually want to read it? Yes.
But that just means more work for me now.
A fire has been lit in me.
Despite all the stress of the holidays, a new employee at work, and trying to change my entire lifestyle so I can budget to buy a house… I feel a certain obligation to finish The Book. I feel like I have to try. If years later, The Book has been long finished and I’ve sent it to countless agents and publishers, and no one wants to publish it – then maybe I’ll move on.
But for now, I still have a lot to give – and I have zero excuses for why I can’t finish the damn thing and try to get it published.
I’ve always been a writer, since as long as I can remember. Words come naturally to me, and my life has handed me a story on a silver platter. Why not try to do something with it? Why not try to articulate a story that could change someone’s life?