Sitting here thinking about my new release, I feel exposed. I imagine it’s what every writer feels publishing the words that sprung so readily from the heart. We know some people won’t like what we say, or they will find fault with our use of language. No one can please everyone. However, it takes bravery to give a novel to the world…like sending a child away from home for the first time.
It might not seem so much an effort to those who have not done it, or those who have written without the force of commitment. An author’s reasons for producing their work can be varried. For a person who is called by the words, no matter the intent, there is a strong tie between writer and story that is almost an attachment.
We live with the words for days, months and even years before we let our readers see them. We hoard them, refine them, adjust them, coddle them, make them whole. Every time I finish a story I contend with a deep sadness that it’s over, wanting it to last forever.
The only way I know to give it a life beyond my own doorstep is to release it into the world and hope against hope that it survives and is loved.

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