So it begins.
I’ll edit my novel. My novel will go out into the world.
I’ve worked many years for this.
Today I told my dad that my book will be published. I never talk to him about my writing. Once, years ago, I told him I’d written a book. His only reaction was to say, “Oh. It must be about something.”
“Yes.”
He changed the subject.
I imagine he’s worried I’ve written about him. My dad doesn’t appear in any of my novels. Not knowingly anyway.
He doesn’t read, so I can’t picture him reading my novel.
But other people will read it. Even if the only people who read are my friends, people will read it. Finally.
And some of them will like it.
Some won’t.
We all know–pick any book in the world and there will be people who hate it. Who gets through life being loved by everybody?
But it will be strange to hand my book to people who know me, who’ve been waiting for this moment too, who’ve been supporting me…
Like any good adventure, this is scary and exciting.
Marta Pelrine-Bacon 
My mom is the same, changing the subject-wise. My dad would’ve been interested, I think. It is scary. I had someone I really admire, whose work I really admire, say they couldn’t wait to read my work. The thought can make me shudder. It’s the scariest thing in the world. All I can do is say, I get it, and stay focused on the positives of this wonderful experience!
I used to tell myself that I would tell my story when there was no one left to be hurt from my words.My family dynamics were such that I was the peacemaker of the family. Guardian of the wounded….and it would of been impossible for me to be the one wounding them. My words would have done that.By the time I was 14 the need to write and the need to protect my family clashed constantly inside me. I began to write and my writing was as cryptic as hell ,so much sometimes that what I wrote was sometimes hidden from even me. I started being more forth coming with my writing when I allowed myself to look honestly at my family. I severed myself and that was quite possibly the most painful thing I had ever done.It is years later and I am still estranged from most of my family. The thing is though, I found that being a peace maker was intrinsic in me. Being a peacemaker was not a role my family created for me,they were just able somehow to take and intensify that intrinsic quality and brought it and me to the point of desperation. Same with my writing.I am not a published author,don’t know if I ever will be,but I am a writer and always will be. I am not so cryptic anymore and the majority of my family will never understand what I am trying to say with words and for me,years and years later, that’s okay.
“Being a peacemaker was not a role my family created for me,they were just able somehow to take and intensify that intrinsic quality and brought it and me to the point of desperation. ” Wow. Joyce, you just summed up a major part of my own personal story. Thanks!
Thank you Sarah,Your response to my post means a lot to me. It is really important for me as a person to know that the fact of my existence is not based on my family’s definition of me.I believe words heal. I’m humbled that you found something in my words that spoke to you.
Marta- writing was scary, saying “I’m a writer” was scary, letting people read your work was scary, sending it out was scary, saying yes to publication was scary. You’ve made this whole scared-but-gonna-do-it anyway thing work for you!
Congratulations! Enjoy the experience.