The book that cannot be read!

Here’s the thing. I’m writing my book (about creative mothers), and I’m really pleased with it, with how it’s taking shape. It is nowhere near finished, but I am please with how it is forming. I have tried to explain to non-writers how it works – it is a two fold process – partly it feels like you are groping in the dark, trying to find the form which is already there. It exists, but I have to reach it. And partly it is totally up to me to channel the sparks of inspiration that come to me to be born. It is a completely different experience to writing a blog, an article or dissertation.

I have started books before and abandoned them way before this stage. So I am really pleased. I am moving at a good pace, and it feels good, it is a challenge, but at the right level, I feel I have the experience, the ideas, the voice…

I know people are enjoying the blog. I know I can sell my articles. I know they like my style and that my subject matter touches a chord with many…

And yet…

The absolutely terror and embarrassment of showing my work, my baby. It is like walking in a shopping mall with no clothes on. I feel very vulnerable.

I am proud of it… and yet I am terrified.

I keep telling my husband not to look – I am a book virgin – please be gentle! Good friends are allowed to touch it, to attest its reality, so I can share my excitement. But not a word can be read…

How crazy is this?

I’m writing a book… which is going to be read…

But I don’t want anyone to read it, well at least not anyone who knows me. Every word makes me cringe – it is too real, it is my deepest thoughts, my motivations, my ways of functioning laid bare on a plate. I don’t want people to read it and cringe inwardly and say nice things. I want it to work for my readers, for it to change lives, to inspire, to be of interest, to set lightbulbs off… but I don’t want anyone to read it…

Go figure!

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