One of the most thrilling, yet completely terrifying things about being a newly published author is having people read your work. I’m not talking about your parents or your best friend, here. I’m talking about People. The ones you don’t know, who live and work in places you’ve never been to. Writing is a lot like art because once a piece leaves the creator’s hands, you lose all control over how people interpret it. What they take away from your story, your poem, your novel may be completely different than what you meant and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. You’ve given a piece of yourself to the world and you can only hope they won’t wound you to your core.
Now, periodically, I like to check Amazon to see how my book, Celia, is faring. Most of the time, it’s pretty depressing as I’m bouncing around between #1,000,000 and #250,000,000 on their best seller list. No, those zeros are not typos. Today, however, I got a very happy surprise: my seventh review. What makes this review more noteworthy than the other six reviews is that I have no idea who this person is. Because I am a new author who published a novella length manuscript through an independent press, most of my readers so far have been people I know. To be honest, it’s been pretty hard to burst through that bubble and reach a wider audience. I did it, though. I reached one person I don’t know with my book, and I made an impact. He or she (it’s a gender neutral name) gave the book five stars and a great review.
At the end of the day, that’s what it’s about for me. I may never be famous, and I might have to do something other than writing for income, but someone out there read what I had to offer and it made a connection.