I’m listening to my Mom read the first five chapters of The Rosewood House aloud to our family. A lot of feelings are tossing around inside my heart.
~The tone of her voice takes me back to childhood, and being introduced to a magical world as she read a story aloud.
~I’m listening to words I wrote as they’re read by someone else; it sounds surreal and exciting.
~I’m cowering as the paragraphs go by, one by one. I wince at the ones I’m not entirely sure of, wondering if they sound awful to the listeners. I’m constantly thinking to myself, “I knew I shouldn’t have written it that way…I should have tweaked it to say something else…”
~I’m exulting in the fact that I have five chapters officially done.
~I’m lamenting that those five chapters need several more months of work.
~I’m accepting the fact that I don’t have months. At some miraculous point in the near future, I must let it go, ready or not.
~They just finished—I’m waiting to hear what they say. They’re my family, so I know they’ll tell me it’s amazing, and I won’t believe them.
I never expected the writing journey to include a cardio workout…
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That’s very cool. Nice to have it read by someone else, isn’t it? It does seem surreal and kinda exotic. I had the fortune of an author, who is from England, read my book aloud, about 5 pages or so, and it makes me think “there needs to be an audio version too!”
@CJ Ooh, that must have been cool!