Waiting on the Book Release

"It's sad, actually, because my anxiety keeps me from enjoying things as much as I should at this age."
~Amanda Seyfried

With the release of my first novel, Dying in June, just around the corner, I find myself suffering from major-major anxiety. Now, please know that I already suffer with major anxiety, and I have become accustomed to its many manifestations. This anxiety, however, leaves a displeasing smudge just behind my eyes, making it quite impossible for me to see clearly any reality.

As the days drain away at the speed of snail, I’m left in a storm with my own thoughts. “What if I succeed? There will be so much responsibility attached to it!” or “What if I fail? There will be so much shame laced in it!” These thoughts, though reasonable for anyone not suffering with a disquiet mind, are detrimental to my body-mind-spirit agreement.

I take the “What-ifs” and turn them into realities. My dysfunctional brain makes certain that every scary thought is believed by my core. From that belief, an unabridged new level of crazy comes in. For example, “If I succeed and have all this responsibility, I will also have to meet deadlines. I will be expected to write masterpieces. I will certainly be expected to make it into the canon. I mean, these people will want me to write until my fingers are so riddled with arthritis, I am left maimed.” The other side of that looks a bit like this: “They will all hate it! Everyone will know my thoughts, my secrets! Strangers will paw my pages and judge me for the crap writing I compose, and no one will like me. I’m sure they won’t even make it past chapter two!” There is no in-between for this author, only either/or.

Now, a reasonable person would end the chaos there, if ever they make it so far. I am not a reasonable person, in fact, much the opposite. Here’s the worst part of all of it: I can only write in the comely disaster of bedlam. I need these irrational thoughts in order to craft my art. I thrive on the thoughts that follow the aforementioned miniscule insanities. I develop with each transition into sheer pandemonium. Without the thoughts of either being loved or hated, I cannot find the emotions needed to give life to my characters.

I’ve said all of that to say this: On June 26, 2015, my book, Dying in June makes its electronic debut. Three or four weeks later, the hardcopy comes out. That is a lot of hours, minutes, and seconds to stay trapped inside of myself. Until then, know that I’m sweating a bit more than normal, I’m eating much more junk food, drinking way too much coffee, and praying that I find acceptance in my turbulence. Sure, you’ll either love it or hate it, either way, I must continue to write it out.