I started writing books when I was about five years old. Now — after, I’m not going to say how many years — I’ve finally got one published. Publication was a dream I never thought would come true …
That’s the opening of my book launch speech. My dream has come true; I got what I wished for. So how does it really feel? Well, I have this lump at the back of my throat, I feel like I’m constantly about to vomit; and I thought I was getting a cold, but it’s actually some kind of stress-related allergy.
Publication of your book is a bit like your child leaving home. There’s nothing you can do except hope they’ll be OK out there alone in the world.
Go, Little Book (by Geoffrey Chaucer)
Go, litel book, go litel myn tregedie,
Ther god thy maker yet, er that he dye,
So sende might to make in som comedie!
But litel book, no making thou n’envye,
But subgit be to alle poesye;
And kis the steppes, wher-as thou seest pace
Virgile, Ovyde, Omer, Lucan, and Stace.