Every writer dreams of the day when a story becomes a book. Since Flux first offered on Silver nearly two years ago, I knew this day would come. But knowing it and experiencing it are two totally different things.
I am excited, of course. Still, there is a bittersweet quality to publication that no one warned me about. The reality is that this book is no longer going to be mine. I am going to have to let it go out into the world, to succeed or fail on its own.
Before that happens, I want to keep it close. I want to remember that when I sat down to write this book, there was no expectation that anyone but me would ever see it. This book was a labor of love, a place to explore characters and themes and stories that mattered to me. It was a playground for me to escape to and let my imagination run loose.
I want to remember how these characters took on a life of their own, surprising me in the most delightful and exciting ways. I loved uncovering their secrets, especially the ones they tried to keep buried.
I want to remember how difficult it was to keep going at times. There were days when I thought I might never finish. Still, I kept coming back to it, one weekend day at a time. There were days when my heart bled onto the page, and days when I laughed out loud. Everyday was a journey.
I want to remember that I didn't write this book for others. I wrote it for me. And whether it sells or not, whether people read it, whether they love it or hate it, one simple thing will always be true: I love this book. I am proud of how far Silver has come from those quiet days when it was just me and these characters and a keyboard, feeling my way through the story. But it is those days, when I wrote for the sheer joy of discovery, when pieces of me tangled up with the words, those days are the reason this book even exists.
In a month, Silver won't be mine anymore, it will belong to the marketplace. I will let it go and hope for the best. For now, I am holding my finished copies tight.
Directing Reader Attention
3 days ago