It has been a tremendous summer full of transformations around here. The kids moved to college (and we love our empty nest). One of the best women in my family died unexpectedly in early August and the services were simultaneously exhausting, heart-breaking, and life-affirming. Last week, we started ripping out old landscaping for a fresh new look.
(It’s only dirt out there at the moment, but already it’s a huge improvement. I can’t wait to post the after pictures)
Professionally, it’s been amazing working on romantic suspense novels with the ever-so-talented, USA Today bestseller, Debra Webb!
There are so many highs that offset some of the odd lows of being an author: The rush of brainstorming and crafting the story. Taking the time to make it shine so readers will love the characters too. Making the sale…
Great reviews, signing books, meeting amazing fans…
But one of the best highs – ever – as an author is when the box of paperback books arrive on the doorstep.
I’m not ashamed to confess that it’s one time when I’m always at a loss for words. Happy tears usually rule the moment for me, the emotion is that big. It’s a heady mix of pride and fascination along with a hefty dose of “dreams come true” right there in a cardboard box.
Years ago when I sold my first book (Justice Incarnate) my publisher warned me that dazzled feeling would fade, that it becomes almost normal. I couldn’t imagine it and I vowed right then and there to maintain my exuberance in that moment.
I’m happy to report, so far, it remains a marvelous sensation every time the author copies arrive. (There are even silly rumors that I’ve snapped at family members who might want to hold one or – gasp – read one of those precious copies).
Live the adventure!
