It's astonishing how a process takes shape. Three years ago I sat down to write Into the Everything in a chaotic whirlwind of eight months that produced the first, imperfect, and roughly double-the-size draft. The manuscript went though an editing process that lasted two years before I sent query letters for potential publication.
After hooking up with Punkin House, there was the obligatory months of artwork, formatting, and further editing; but I am content to say, that it is finally over. Today, I signed off on what I hope to be the finished, error-free manuscript that will go to print this monday for the release on the 22nd. I feel winded, proud, and perhaps mostly, relieved. For a book that I started three years ago, I feel ready to finally put it to rest, while the world experiences it for the first time. It's strange to feel so distant from it. I am not the same person who penned it, nor am I the same writer. I have gone on to write other manuscripts, novels, poems, etc. Looking back on this book, I feel a wonderful sort of nostalgia and fondness for the person that I was, ignorant and arrogant and ready to take on such a grand tribulation to become...a novelist.
I don't make any assumptions that the book will be read too far beyond my circle of friends. But I am inspired by Larry in Somerset Maugham's The Razor's Edge, who wrote a novel based on his "loaf"ing and wandering throughout the world, published it, and sent it only to his friends, who he desired to have read and love him through his words.
I'm okay with that.