The Sweet Release

My hands are trembling as I make the drive down Harvard toward my publisher's.  This is the day I have been anticipating for as long as I can remember.  This is the day I finally get to hold my actual book in my hands.  I vacillate between sheer bliss and great fear.  I am blissful to have accomplished this much and terrified that others might not like it or will never purchase it.

Pulling into the parking lot, I shut off my car and take a deep breath before swinging open the door and running into the building.  Coming to an abrupt halt before the door marked "Emerald Pointe Books", I run my hands down my tacky sweat pants and think for the hundredth time that I should have taken time to change into something more presentable.  But I couldn't wait that long.  So hear I stand on the brink of success, dressed in gray sweat pants and a red Eskimo Joes sweatshirt.  Pushing open the door, I think, "Here goes?everything."

I enter the lobby and see the package marked with my name.  I hurriedly grab it tearing into the envelope with vigor.  It is dark inside and all I can see is the creamy color of the pages bound together.  I smell it.  I know I'm crazy but there is nothing as heady as the smell of a new book especially, when that book is your own.

"Okay, this is it," I tell myself.  Pulling it carefully from its darkened depths, I gasp as the bright teal and red of the cover breaks free.  It is beautiful. The most beautiful book I have ever seen.  The dice and the title "The Bunko Babes" leap off the page, the red in stark contrast to the soft green.  Then I see it--my name. I can hardly believe it. There is my name in print on the front of this book.  "Leah Starr Baker" it reads at the top of the book mind you, not the bottom and it's surprisingly big.  I feel so many things at this moment:  gratefulness, pride, fear, nervousness, excitement, the list goes on and on.

At last the receptionist returns and upon seeing me directs me to the back and into the Vice-Presidents office.  I step in and immediately burst into tears.  He gives me a crooked smile and asks, "I take it you like it?  Or are those tears of sorrow?"

I giggle swiping furiously at the tears of joy streaming down my pale cheeks.  "I love it," I reply.  "I can't believe I'm crying but it's finally happening.  All the hours of writing, the pain of the critiques, the pressure of the deadlines, the countless delays are finally worth it. I have a book in print. Thank you."

Giving me an awkward hug, he says, "You're welcome.  Thank you for allowing us to publish it."

I choke up again.

"Now we've got to promote it.  Get the word out. Convince people to buy it," my hero adds.

Regaining my composure, I give him a sassy grin.  "Oh, is that all?  That should be a breeze."