I’m going to be a published author, and this is the first time that sentence has felt anything like the truth.
I wasn’t trying to get published, not yet…but everything fell together so perfectly, and I’ve wanted to be a writer since I learned how to put words together good, so it would’ve been beyond stupid to turn down the amazing offer I received. But that’s meant that this whole process has felt a bit like a dream – whether it’s some latent impostor syndrome, or my brain refusing to accept that my wildest hopes are coming true, I’ve walked through the whole publishing process reminding myself that this illusion could fall apart at any second, so I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.
My editor and the whole team at Harper Voyager have been amazing, and have included me on every step of the process, answering all the hesitant questions I second-guessed even asking for fear that they’d suddenly realize they’d let the charade go on long enough. I pushed for things when I needed to (not that I had to do much pushing – my editor has honestly been amazing), but I’ve looked at everything as just a bonus to the whole dreamlike process.
Like, imagine the best dream ever. Obviously your best dream is probably different than my best dream, but if your best dream also involves kittens and riding dinosaurs, then maybe we’re on the same page. In this kitten-cuddling, dinosaur-riding dream, imagine, then, that a celestial arm reaches down to hand you an ice cream cone. Pretty cool, right? Later on, your faithful dino-steed gets you tickets to that new movie you’ve been wanting to see. Neat-o! Just little things, but they make the best dream even better, and it’d be silly to question how the celestial hand got ice cream or where the dinosaur keeps his spending money. You never question the goods things. That’s just silly. The second you start trying to impose logic on a dream, it pops.
So I’ve been hanging out in this awesome dream and not questioning any of it, knowing I’ll wake up someday soon and it will be but a fond memory.
Instead, I woke up today covered in cats and ice cream.
It’s a weird feeling.
That’s my name, and my awesome cover, on my soon-to-be book. It’s actually real. And now maybe it’s an existential crisis instead of impostor syndrome, but we deal with things as they come.