White Out is my fourteenth book. That’s a lot. If I had 14 children, you’d all need to be really worried about me. And thankfully, the physical (and mental) wear-and-tear of a book are nothing like a baby.
But there’s a reason that people talk about their books like babies. Like a pregnancy, a book is developed almost entirely by an author in solitude. You put so much into that thing—eating well, exercise, focus, good thoughts…all so that it will be the best it can be.
And then you put it out in the world (to agents, editors and eventually readers) and you still worry about it every day. But on the day the book first arrives on your doorstep, sent by the book storks of course, it’s a magical feeling. Not like the first time I held my daughter or my son, but it’s pretty darn awesome.