I am reading my book. The book I wrote. The book I have read more times over than any other book I have read in my life. However, this time it’s different. This time it’s the proof copy sent to me from my publisher. This is meant to be the “flimsy fall-apart in your fingers” version that the printers apparently slap together quickly in order to keep the publishing process moving smoothly along. I have been assured that official copies are going to be of an even higher quality, but considering I’m already incredibly happy with this “proof version”, I can only see smiles in the future for all involved.
My book. It has moved around the house since I received it yesterday. It has sat on every table, every shelf, next to every book I’ve ever loved from authors I have sat up high on pedestals that are very much out of my reach. Regardless of how highly I regard them, I get a little thrill seeing the spine of my book lying against the spines of theirs and fitting in so nicely. I like to believe they’re making friends, if books could do such a thing with other books.
Until today it wasn’t real, this idea of being considered a women’s fiction author. Not just that: I am an Australian writer. My book will be accessible online around the world. The book might be set here in Australia (not to mention visits to several other countries as well), but it’s really set in my heart. To think I created this story from start to finish out of nothing except the grey matter inside my head. The journey the characters make, the way they interact, all of it. If you ask me, I honestly don’t even know where it comes from.
It is hard for me to read it objectively anymore, because I am overly critical of everything I do. I now understand how easy it is for other authors to skim over a typo and have it make it to print, and how the costs of changing it sometimes are not worth what you would be fixing. When you’ve become so familiar with something, each time you read it you spot something or imagine it better. The fact is, at some point you have to stop fixing and let it go. You have to set it free and let things fall where they may. People may love it, or they may hate it, but the sleepless hours put into creating it and the thousands of dollars that you can’t expect to get back unless you’re incredibly lucky, none of it really matters anymore. Not at this stage. Why? Because here it is. For better of for worse, I can hold it in my hands and say, “I made this. These are my characters, this is their story, and I love them dearly.”
So tonight I continue reading through my little dream, remembering where I was at the moment each passage was created. Every time I look at the cover I’m reminded that it too was my handy work. All the tears, money and tantrums have finally come to fruition. Not long now and it will be available for sale online in both print and eBook formats. Only time will tell what the rest of the world thinks. I hope you get wrapped up in it as much as I did writing it.