Perspective: Writer Version

I posted a cute (well, I think it’s cute, anyway. Blog posts are kind of like kids that way) story over on my other website about the day last week that advanced reading copies of my All the Difference came in. Please go check it out, then come back here, because I have something funny to tell you that won’t make sense until after you read that other one…

4.17.15. ARC. Leah website

…did you finish it yet?

…what about now?

Okay, good. You’re back.

So now you know the embarrassing Story of the ARC (not at all like Noah’s, but for a brief moment in my little corner of the continent, almost as earth-shaking). You know all about the tears, and about the family huddle, and the fact that–for all of us, kiddos included–it became absolutely real that this book is actually, really, happening. At least, I thought it finally made sense to most of us. The Big Huge Accomplishment was UNDENIABLE. I was humbled. I was giddy. I was overwhelmed. We were all so happy at this Wonderful Thing That Happened. And–for a brief moment, just the tiniest–I was THE ONLY ONE IN THE WORLD WHO’S EVER HAD A BOOK PUBLISHED.

But then I got a reality check, preschool-style.

The next day, the day after the ARCs came in and I cried too much (happy sobs!) and called my mom and cried some more (more happy sobs!), Quinlan went to school, as usual (apparently the world does not stop to clap its hands when early copies of a person’s novel are released into the wild). And that evening her teacher sent me a message:

4.17.15. ARC. Quinlan comment

I told you.

Reviews of the book are going to start coming in soon. In a few months, people out in the world–friends, family members among them–will read All the Difference and…wait for it…TELL ME WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT IT. I am so nervous. Excited, but really, really nervous. My mere 294 pages, about to be tossed into the hands of people, and digested in a matter of days, then placed aside. In between that time, though? These knees will be a-knocking. But this, my friends–out of the mouth of our Quinn, who calls the writing “work” more often than I do, who sits beside me and comments as I finish up emails and blog posts and Twitter updates, who asks me when I’m going to finish the next book–is keeping it real.

4.17.15. ARC. Quinn runningMan, it’s good to have a four-year-old around.

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