It’s a strange feeling of both excitement and wonder when I release a book out into the world. For the months leading up to it, I’m panicked and worried about whether I’ve done enough. Are people going to roll their eyes and groan, “What was she thinking?” Did a section of the ebook come through wonky or did some scenes get overlooked, even though I’ve checked, and rechecked, and checked it all again to make sure they didn’t?
Then, like magic, it’s out in the world.
I spend days looking at the stats in abject wonder. People bought it. People are reading it on KU. It’s out of my hands now.
And I question myself. “What was I thinking?!“
But then I try to ground myself. Almost six years ago, I was in a completely different state, both figuratively and literally. I had been laid off, needed something to keep me busy and keep the panic at bay, and sat in front of my computer when Greg introduced himself to me.
He’d been put away a few times while I worked on other stories, but his voice always came back when I opened the file and his life spilled out. I know it’s weird, but certain scenes felt lived-in to me as I wrote them. Like in my head I was sitting in the room taking notes, hearing the laughter, smelling the pot (well, okay, I can smell the weed almost everywhere now, so that’s not a stretch…), and hearing 1975’s world in the click of boot heels, staticky radios, and rushing traffic on Sunset. To me, it’s how I know a scene is working. When I finish it, it feels almost as though I’m coming out of a time warp. And I hope, hope, hope that as a reader you’re getting the same immersion into that world.
And that’s the thing: the fear, the concern. Did I get it all wrong despite my best efforts?
And now, it’s out there, and I can’t take it back with my panic. Greg lives in someone else’s world now, just like Cass, Bailey, Roy, and Dale. They don’t belong just to me anymore. They live in the big, scary world I was writing to avoid. They belong to the readers now who, hopefully, immerse themselves in the world they live in for a few pages at a time.
Greg’s introducing himself to the broader world now. I’m taking an unsteady step away, watching with pride and hope that I’ve done a good enough job that he’ll be a success in it, and turning my focus to the next fledgling novel struggling to be heard amid the chaos.
Should you meet Greg in your own head, I hope you love him, too.
