Musings and mind leaks... Typewriter

Chapter 7: Waving from the outside

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A few days ago I received a box of books in the post. It was a box of my books; my debut novel; my baby; my first born, and lots of other over-effusive descriptions for what was, essentially, a box full of paper. It was a very strange sensation. Of course, I was very pleased to have a copy in my hand, check that it was all okay and that the quality was as good as I hoped (it was), but there was another feeling that I hadn't expected, and it was this: My book is now a physical thing. Even the digital version is kind of physical once it's downloaded onto an e-reader. I can pick it up and hold it and see the printed words with my eyes. It's no longer something that's in me, or even part of me. It was once, but now it's independent of me. It now has a life of its own. Now, I'm not a parent but I imagined it was a little bit like seeing a child that's grown up leaving home.  I now have to decide what kind of mother I'm going to be. Will I be possessive and over-emotional, interfering with every action, lashing out at every criticism, and demanding that my book phones home every day? Or will I be strong and selfless and let it go free to live its own life with my blessing? I want to be like the latter and set it free...Off you go, little book. I hope you find good friends and kind enemies. I hope you live a long life and inspire a few people along the way. Farewell, be free...but don't forget to phone home once in a while! (Nope, I'm not crying. I've just got something in my eye.)

Book cover STW

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