Worry, worry, worry …

Grandma Betty was one of those people—around her, food tasted better, jokes were funnier, and disappointments were put in perspective. She used to quote an old rhyme that began: If worry ever solved a thing it would be worth a lot, but it only serves to wear you down and spoil what you’ve got. She’s right. Of course she is. She was right about everything. But still, I worry. (I think that’s why she recited that little jingle to me so often.)

I strive to be a daydreamer like my fellow Debs, but when I imagine people reading I LIKED MY LIFE it’s dark, not whimsical. I worry people close to me will take offense. I worry people who don’t know me will want their money back. I worry about supporting a book club where I have to drum up a response to something like, “No offense, but this book wasn’t for me.” (How’s: None taken. I’m so glad I’m sitting in your living room so I can hear the feedback directly while thirteen sets of eyes observe my reaction.)

I’ve had the opportunity to engage some of these fears directly during the dreaded “blurb process.” For those who’ve never had the pleasure, let me explain what that is. You know the author quotes that adorn most book covers, Goodreads author pages, and Amzaon buy links? Those come about by new writers reaching out to their favorite authors and requesting they take a sneak peak at a bound, uncorrected copy of the manuscript. That’s right—UNCORRECTED. I liken this experience to showing up at a party full of supermodels buck naked. Imagine it: “Excuse me, writer whose books I’ve inhaled for years? I’m a publishing nobody. Would you please read my debut? Great. There will be typos and other striking errors. Just ignore those.”

So that I don’t pass my worry on to you, I will report that the writers whose books I’ve inhaled for years have been largely accommodating and in some cases downright gracious. In addition to sending quotes, many took the time to wish me the best directly and vow support to their readership when I LIKED MY LIFE makes it way to bookshelves. It’s so much more than I ever expected.

And yet, still, I worry.