An Author Should Be Proud of Her/His Book

 

No, this isn't some touchy-feely affirmation, like the kind I railed about a couple days ago. But I got to thinking about how quick we authors are to devalue our work when it's not an instant hit. And according to some writers, even if a book takes off, they still suffer from imposter syndrome. That, I wouldn't know about. 

There are many reasons why a good book fails, and contrary to what know-it-all social media posters say, most of those are outside an author's control. Often, the reason is unknowable. An indie publisher can do everything right and still fail. So, we need to stop blaming ourselves. I beat myself up over things I did wrong, or didn't do at all; I bruised my brain trying to discover that one missing link. But I never questioned whether my novel was good. 

So, I've decided to just be proud of it. 

It's going on a year since Running From Herself was published; thus, I rarely think about the story at all, but every once in a while something will jog my memory, and I silently chuckle over one of the scenes in the book---generally, an embarrassing scene, which is my favorite kind to write. 

And I still marvel at myself for my ingenuity. The motel room, aka, "recording studio" is one example. When Leah's volunteer record producer came to town and Leah's plans went awry (she'd secured him a room at the local motel, but he announced that he preferred to bunk with one of the band members), I still needed a place for the band to record. The small town barely had a motel, much less a professional studio, so voila! The unused room found its purpose. I knew just enough about recording to understand the importance of soundproofing, so I set the band to work securing the space, albeit clumsily and with cost-free, scavenged materials. Of course, every time the band wanted to step outside for a break, they had to dismantle the "soundproofing" that covered the door.

As my (only) fan noted in her review:

"This story had me laughing and crying in equal measures." 

So, one person, at least, got what I was going for.

And the Iowa snowstorm she and her worthless manager and two hired players got stuck in---the situation kept getting worse and worse; I kept adding one complication on top of another. I didn't know that the sum of all those events would cause Leah to run, but in hindsight it makes perfect sense. I didn't, in fact, even know that she would run until my fingers typed it out. She finally managed to jettison the three people and drive to her next gig to perform an acoustic set, but instead, she breezed past the highway exit and just kept driving. That wasn't planned.

The wonder of this story, to me, is how I came up with these scenarios to begin with. Nothing in the story was planned except for the opening, which explained that Leah quit her failing band and took to the road. That's it. From there, I kept creating complications for myself that I had to figure a way out of. I loved that! That's why I don't outline.  

I didn't mean to go on and on about my novel (or maybe I did...hmmm...), but my point is that you, too, author, have written a book to be proud of. We writers are sensitive souls, and we're far too affected by criticism, or worse, silence. So, if you don't have many fans, or any, that doesn't detract from the beautiful baby you birthed. The people who haven't cast their eyes upon that gorgeous newborn are the real losers.

You wrote a good, maybe a great book, and you're not required to deny it. Don't say to people, "It's a good book, but..." (but it hasn't sold). Just stop after the first four words. If you repeat those four words enough, they'll cement in your mind. As they should.

Millions of people create things, and about 99.99% of those things aren't shared with the world. That doesn't make those things useless; far from it. Because writers work in a medium that lends itself to sharing, we fall prey to others' opinions. But that piece of stained glass an artisan created isn't any less beautiful because only he's seen it. 

We shouldn't require a stranger to affirm that we're, in fact, pretty awesome. Deep down, we know that we are.