Loving books since I was a little girl, new releases are like Christmas morning any time of year. Every month I go online and review the hundreds of new titles that have been published since I checked thirty or so days before.
Doing just that today, the number of bound pages that had come out hit me like a ton of books. Hardcover, of course. Having heard many different authors’ accounts of what it takes to write a novel or auto/biography, I have a sense of what a monumental undertaking it is. And that’s the research and writing part; submitting your work if you are not an established, successful, beloved author is a job unto itself. The waiting and rejection over and over until finally you capture the attention of a publisher is an exercise in perserverence and supreme belief in yourself. And yet, every month I discover hundreds of new releases containing the blood, sweat and tears of people who dated to do just that. Kind of makes a gal feel like a slacker! I mean . . . it’s more than a little humbling. What the heck have I done in the time it took for those books to go from an idea into something countless strangers will hold in their hands?
My husband, other family and friends tell me that I should write a book. For now, I am content to publish in blog form and feed my voracious reading habit with the works of others. I can live with being a Type A- compared to these many authors so long as I remain a Type A+ reader. Oh, wait. THAT’S what I’ve been doing . . .
