I haven’t read it in quite some time. And even as I was writing it, I didn’t often read it back to myself. I barely read through it when sending it to my wonderful editor. I didn’t like to read it back when she sent me any notes on it.
I have read my book so few times that I have literally forgotten some of the words I have written. I will find myself confused as to what the beautiful art is conveying because I am unsure of what exactly it was I wrote.
Wild, right? I know.
I know it’s decent. I know my editor loved it. I know my Publisher loved it. I know the illustrator is in love with it. But for some reason, I fear the doubt creeping in so I avoid reading it. I don’t want to be like, “damn, this part wasn’t good enough, I really need to change it.” I don’t want to worry that it’s too late to do anything about it. So, I just avoid looking at it.
There are many days I want to just open that file and read it. But I just don’t. There are times I want to read through my editor’s notes but I just can’t. Everything about this book scares me. It took me outside of my comfort zone. I love poetry. Everything about it. I love to write. I love metaphors and broken sentences and short paragraphs filled with so much emotion, but this book, a children’s book, scared the shit out of me.
If you follow me you know that I rely on my stories and detailing the nuances of everything to change hearts and minds. I needed way more than 600 words. I felt like I needed more than 600 words. Especially for the message I am trying to send with this book. Especially for my wanting to bridge our world with that of those who know nothing about the life our family lives.
I needed more and I felt like I didn’t have enough. Plus, it needed to be entertaining in some way to hold a child’s attention and written in a way that the adult reading it to them would benefit from this story as well.
Talk about pressure.
And I applied it to myself in copious amounts. I was first introduced to writing this book by an editor with Simon & Schuster. She didn’t care for how I wrote it initially. She explained what it was that she was looking for and when I researched into those types of books, I rewrote it. And given the fact that she ghosted me, I understood this to mean that it was not at all what she wanted.
But I carried this book with me, or rather the idea of this book with me. She rejected me and that hurt like hell. Especially when abandoned in such a way. She left no feedback for what was wrong, no “this isn’t what we are looking for at the time,” nothing. Just…dipped out.
However, she left that desire in me for this book. I never thought about writing a children’s book until I met her. I thank her for that. I felt like I could write this book. I needed the right team and support behind me for it. I didn’t realize that until now. It wasn’t that I couldn’t right what she wanted, it was that it didn’t feel like me. I lost my voice in hers. And that was the problem. What she liked in my account, what led her to me, she muted, and then didn’t care for the outcome.
I bounced around that exact same book, same as written to other houses, some took some bites, others did not. Some wanted me to change too much. I already changed enough. So much that I lost myself. And what I wanted this book to do. They didn’t want it to teach, they wanted it to entertain. They wanted animals for people. They didn’t want life lessons. Why couldn’t a book be beautiful, with a beautiful message, entertain, and teach something? Isn’t that what so many children’s books do?
I found my footing with Row House, and I rewrote the whole thing. And it was hard. So very hard. It is finished. It is done. But it never really feels done. It always feels like I could have done it better, worked on it more, changed it some more. I avoid reading it so much that I wonder if I even like it sometimes. I know I do. I wouldn’t have turned it in. But that doubt will creep in and stain my insides, poisoning my sense of self.
And so, I haven’t read my book. Not in a long time. If I am being honest, I think I only read through once, from start to finish. I probably won’t read it until it’s bound. Until it has all the images laid out and in their proper place. Until I finish the Author Note. I hype myself up to read it and then…back away.
It’s good. I know it’s good. But how good can I know it is if I run from reading it. I don’t have this much trouble writing controversial posts that get me banned in so many online spaces. But this, I am having such a hard time reading.
Because this book means so much to me. It means soooooo much to me. The importance of this story getting out and giving others the opportunity to experience a piece of our world and that of my son’s specifically means so damn much. I don’t want to get it wrong. I don’t want to mess up. I don’t want to fail.
I am excited.
And I am scared.
So, I haven’t read my book. But I will. I promise. And it will be BEFORE y’all do, lol.