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.”
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.
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.