a little risk

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If you know me, you know that I am pee-in-my-pants-excited to say that as of Thursday, I’m a semi-self-published author. I am excited, really. But I also feel extreme relief.

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My writing is nowhere close to where it was when I started the Anchor, not even a little. I think I will dedicate my life to the darker side of writing, the creepy, the cringe worthy. I think stretches my imagination more, allowing me to focus on creating worlds people only dream of (or fear.) I feel so removed from the girl who started writing this sweet southern romance, though I appreciate and thank her for starting the project, she lit the fire. I still love the characters, they will always remain close to me. I am happy to finally feel confident enough to let them out of my brain and loose in the world. I spent the weekend wondering if I will feel this way with all of my characters? Forever tied to them but capable of healthy separation? Is that possible? As an artist, I wonder if I’ll ever move past what strikes and moves me, or if heavier things will always remain my inspiration; an answer I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to put to words.

This book changed me forever.

If you read any form of this book previously, I ask you to toss out what you remember or know, and read this book as wholly new, a separate piece from the thing before. Walter’s voice is so so sooooo different now. I was trying to work with three empty voices I couldn’t hear correctly instead of focusing on one; a trait of the times I suppose. I hadn’t quite found footing on independence in the beginning of this story, but once I grasped it, Bridget was able to find some freedom as well.I surprised myself with the changes I made to this book over the last few days/weeks. I left things in I probably shouldn’t have; everything is transparent. I’ve been dealing with that lately, what it means to have people read your work, even if it is complete fiction. I’m as open and honest as they come, but having someone read a larger piece of work means more room for criticism. Your work is a direct reflection of who you are and that’s completely frightening; not only are you subjecting and inviting others to see you, you have no choice but to see yourself. I’ve been working on my confidence with my words, but I wonder if my skin has been weathered enough.

Either way, I’m diving in. Larger than life thanks to everyone who has listened to me yap about this book for the last two years. Thank you for being supportive when all I wanted to do was ask about what sounded logical or “dude-ish.” Thanks for allowing me to be a complete zombie at work because I’d spent hours on my book the day before. Thanks for imagining these characters with me, and all of the others I’ve thrown at you since. I hope the new version of The Anchor finds you well.

This is nerve-wracking, but what’s life without a little risk?

Buy The Anchor

 

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