It took me twenty-five (or 65?) years to write and publish my first book, and now she is finally here.
I am excited. Terrified. Delighted. Freaked out! It doesn’t feel real. I keep repeating, “This is real. This is happening,” and reminding myself to breathe and pray. Pray and breathe. And,
do the things that got me here, and maybe lay down for a spell.
A part of me wants to ask that you consider buying and reading my book. That girl stands awkwardly – head down, drawing lazy circles in the dust with the toe of her shoe. Or in fast, fresh flashes of uncharacteristic courage, she stands arms akimbo – ready to squarely face the indifference or criticisms as they come, or don’t. But, here is the thing.
All of me knows, in the seat of my soul, that this moment deserves celebration and gratitude for being given the opportunity to share from my heart, and for taking the time (and heartache) to try and do my very best. And, surprisingly to me, that knowing seems to be enough to lay this book down right here and walk away to whatever is next. [Order ROSETEARS here.]