Self-publishing your own work, having actual people who aren’t related to you or bound by friendship read your stories and love them, give them complements, getting actually PAID for your writing–these are all exciting things. Things that make you feel validated and like a real author. But there’s one thing that I hadn’t done yet, one thing I hadn’t expected would be such a…thing.
Holding my book in my own two hands.
That is my print edition of Genesis sitting on my coffee table. It’s a real book. With a pretty cover, a good layout (if I do say so myself), an ISBN on the back, and a SPINE THAT WILL SHOW UP ON A BOOKSHELF. It should show up on Amazon in a week or so and trickle into the other expanded distribution points from Createspace over the next couple of months.
I wasn’t expecting the proof until next week, so having it show up in the mail yesterday was very exciting. I pounced on the package and ripped it open. And then I squeaked. Such that hubby, in the other room, thought I’d stepped on a mouse. I then proceeded to spend the rest of the night grinning from ear to ear. Took the book to dinner with the in-laws, where I had a burrito as big as my head and a strawberry margarita in celebration, then promptly came home and passed out on the sofa at 8:30. On a Friday night. I’m blaming the burrito, which was a mistake of epic proportions on the G.I.T. front, but whatever. It was a damn good burrito.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go exercise some more to work that food baby off.