I’m a big believer in the notion that we have become a society of victims. Today I’m jumping on that bandwagon. A few weeks back my wise, dear mother and I discussed the forthcoming release of my debut novel, The Catcher and the Lie, with Samhain Publishing. Foolishly, perhaps, I let it slip that I was hoping a particular reviewer (from a very popular website) would actually read my story. I went on to explain that some review sites tend to give almost everything high marks, whereas this site tended to pull no punches. Our conversation then took a precipitous dip. My mother paused – coughed, if I remember correctly – and gently asked if I really wanted my book in the hands of a potentially scathing reviewer. At that moment I insisted it was what I really, really, really wanted. Honest feedback from someone that is extremely well respected.
Okay, I stand by my original response. But now I’m paying the price for dwelling on my mother’s words every other minute of the day:
- Sleep – just isn’t what it used to be. I’m waking up, practicing speeches in my head about how I will graciously accept feedback that tells me my writing skills are on par with a fifth-grader. (Thanks for taking the time to share why my story made you bang your head against the wall. Maybe with my next book I can aspire to the skills of a middle school student).
- Weight loss – I’ve dropped three pounds in the last week. Seriously, I think I’m burning calories in the middle of the night when I toss and turn. This is not entirely a good thing, because I usually treat any weight loss, even a few ounces, as an automatic green light to eat everything in sight.
- Coffee overload – instead of two cups a day I’m consuming MORE. MUCH MORE. The result of course is that my fingers shake, impairing my ability to type quickly. Not good when you are trying to write your next manuscript.
So, today I blame my mother. For supporting me in my goal to complete a manuscript. For picking up the phone every time I call (which is more than once a day). For reminding me that words can wound – and I might be crushed to smithereens after November 11th. Yeah Yo Mama!