There's a moment in every author's life when he or she sees his or her book on the shelf for the very first time. I remember seeing "Smotherhood" on the shelf in the Barnes and Noble in Cary back in 2007. It was my first book. I started crying right there in the parenting aisle. The man next to me took two steps to the right in order to avoid the crazy woman to his left.
And then there's the moment you see one of your books in someone's hand, dog-eared and scarred from having been devoured by a reader or two. This is also worthy of a swelling of emotion in your humble heart that truly believes no one will ever want to read a word you write.
In truth, each book is like a child born out of more than just a mere nine months of sweat and toil-try years. And when you send that child into the world, what happens next is out of your hands. You hope and pray for the best, but its not up to you.
The advance copy of "The Living Room," my new book about my mother's struggle with brain cancer and the transforming power of being a caregiver arrived on my doorstep this week. From the mind, to the pen, to the paper, it is finally real. In the next few days I will be sending her out into the world on Amazon.com and hoping that she comes back to me again and again dog-eared and coffee-stained.