I have just finished another book. Phew. Sigh of relief.
I wish I felt that rush of pride that so many others talk about- a bird finding its wings and flying out into the world- or some such poetic description.
Nope, mostly its relief.
Thank goodness I managed to finish it. My ADHD brain always encourages me to give up half way through. My self doubt and imposter syndrome sparks up and leads me to question why I wrote it in the first place.
It will probably be rubbish -by the end of the process I have lost all ability to judge!
No -one will buy it, especially if i don’t promote it properly (I probabaly won’t) .
I do not really even want to look at it, as I will want to change it. (too late)
It was intended to be helpful (how will i know if it really is?)
Have I done justice to the subject, my dogs’ voices, the young people and their families I intended it for?
It makes no difference if I am being published ( disagreements with editor (who knows best) about titles and cover images (that I do not like) ) or if I self publish- making a decision, sticking to it.
The really, really sad and unfathomable thing is I am already half way through writing the next one, in my head.
Must be some kind of sickness.