I have, finally, sent in my book, my baby, for a professional manuscript assessment. The book has been waiting, taunting me, for months.
Now it is done. And a new form of anxiety starts. . .
I am not naive enough to think I have written a best seller. But, darn it all, I like my book, and I want everyone else who reads it to think it is awesome. I have no formal training to qualify me as an author. All I have is a deep passion for writing, and the burning desire to share my stories.
And I want to publish it. To succeed at this.
You see, I am a ‘jack-of-all-trades’. I have enough smarts in me to do most things well (besides accounting—I suck at accounting), but I have never really excelled at what I put my hands to. And I have a multitude of unfinished tasks lying around to mock me—a half-knitted jersey, a sanded but not-yet-painted bench, a hand-tufted rug started years ago. Mostly, these unfinished tasks, or my lack of being exceptionally good at something, doesn’t bother me, because they are not really important.
But my writing? That is important to me.
Well, the big reveal will happen by the 16th of August, which is when I’ve been promised the book report from my editor.
I’m smiling…my editor.
As nervous as I am, I can’t wait!