My editor emailed this comment to me over a week ago regarding the first section of my memoir manuscript. I should have been thrilled. I was thrilled. I AM thrilled.
So why did it take mo so long to sing my own praises, to toot my own horn? Why am I dragging my feet?
(Don’t worry, I didn’t succumb to cliches in my manuscript, which is perhaps one reason she liked it.)
“I don’t know why,” is the answer, but in writing this, I’ll figure it out. So let me explore:
I’m afraid people won’t believe that she meant it.
There—that’s it. That was pretty simple.
That's what I love about writing--how putting the letters together to make words to form a sentence to complete a thought pulls my feelings out of my subconscious and splashes them on the page.
And that's what I hate about writing. Sometimes the splash is confrontational, a tsunami of destruction to my ego. Some of the editing I’ve been doing lately has brought to the surface deep flaws in my character, weaknesses I’m loath to admit.
But I own them. I’m pushing through the squalid waters because that’s how I’ll grow.
Maybe that’s what made my manuscript “riveting” and “a page turner”--it’s my unfiltered truth.
Just for the record, my beta readers finished section 2 of my manuscript last week. Guess what they said?
“A page turner.”
You’d better believe it, folks.