I’ve just sent out my finished manuscript (ARCs) to people for endorsement. Gulp. Not only is this my art that I’m asking them to critique, this is my story. My life. My identity.
Writing a memoir is painful — at least it was for me. Many mornings before the sun rose, I could be found crying at my computer. I begged God to help me make sense of my past and communicate it in such a way that it might be a help to the reader. Or readers, if I got lucky.
Now, I’m hearing from my publisher’s sales team that pre-orders from book stores are going very well. At my very first book signing June 25, I’ll be video taped and interviewed by several media outlets. This is wonderful and terrifying. I don’t feel ready to succeed. I’m looking at God going, “Me? Really?” Doesn’t He know how undeserving I am?
Part of me has to laugh that all this attention comes as I enter my 8th month of pregnancy. I’m not feeling exactly glamorous as I’m waddling around the house in pajama pants all day. (Please God, help me find something nice to wear for the cameras!) And I still can’t believe that people would be interested in hearing about a life that seems boring to me, as the one living it.
But that’s the great thing about all this. The pressure’s not on me. I don’t have to be the most brilliant writer or be a size double zero for the cameras. God gave me this story to write, and the desire to write it. His timing is perfect, and I can humbly accept His direction even when I feel unfit and out of place.
This post is a Saturday Sprint.