The book is out.
That is, a book is out, my latest, and my first public display of fiction. My struggles with publishing this collection have been as much with myself as with formatting and editing. I won the struggle, but not easily.
Earlier I wrote about vacillating between “pride and paranoia, delight and dread”. The self-questioning continued when a friend asked me what it was I wanted from publishing. I didn’t have a ready answer. Other friends were encouraging and reminded me that my words had “a right to breathe and populate the page”. Agreed, but why publish, why make my words public when I treasure my privacy? Is publishing an act of bravery or of vanity? Maybe it is more an issue of identity.
Because I am private and respect the privacy of those I serve, I haven’t posted much about being a teacher. That word, Teacher, used to be round with meaning for me. I identified as Teacher, it was a true vocation; I had been called to do it. Now the edges of that word are rougher and sharper. As Teacher I want my students to learn and grow. But I keep picking up the word Writer. Through writing I have learned and grown. I want to be Writer. My words, my characters, need to breathe and populate the page. I am publishing my words because writing is my art. This is what I do; it is who I am.
This book is out. What do I want? I want my writing to be read. And I want to take what I have learned about writing and about myself as a writer and do it again.