It's now the end of February, and I'm getting closer to cradling the final copy of my book in my hands. Sometimes, in the rush of trying to get readings, podcasting, doing blogs, etc. etc. I lose sight of the incredibly long journey that has taken me to this very place. Of course it's a memoir, so I can thank my family for being the "characters"--which is why the adjective"long" for the journey is apt--delving into the past, reshaping it.
At the end of my hallway is a beautiful wood and steel table my older daughter made in High School. There is a wooden Bhudda sitting there. Lately, I have put the book(galley copy!) behind the Bhudda to help me take the "product" part out of the book and remember the years of writing/searching/feeling that got me to that very place.
A couple of times I've removed the book from behind the Bhudda and then the Bhudda looked lonely, so I've put the book back like a candle behind a statue of a great person. An analogy: my book is like a candle? A bit overdone as a thought, but maybe not. So as I will check amazon numbers in the future, wonder about "sales" put my podcast out to try and get an audience, I will take a deep breath knowing my book is behind the Bhudda and somehow they are intertwined.
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