Irrational Fear

It's so stupid

And yet, it seems that it's inescapable. Case in point. I've been telling you that I've been working on a book about the house for what, two years now?

Fear is a big factor in why it's taken me so long to get here. "Here" is this place, where I'm sitting on the precipice of reviewing my (hopefully) final round of developmental edits.

Fear (and, well, some stuff with my parents, too, to be fair) was part of my eight-month hiatus from working on the last round of edits. Fear made it really hard to let go of a lot of the things I had to let go of to make this book better.

Fear is why it's been four days since I received the email from my publisher containing those edits and an editorial letter from my editor. But I decided last night that I had to work on this today.

An hour ago I sat down at my laptop. My heart pounded as I opened the editorial letter. You'd have thought I was the defendant in a courtroom awaiting the reading of my verdict.

Did I mention it's stupid? How about unproductive?

By now, I trust my editor. She gets me. She gets what I'm trying to do and asks me the questions that beg to be answered by someone (say, a reader) far more detached than I am.

So why was I so nervous to open her letter?

Four days expired before I let myself read these opening words: "Marcia, this book is so good! And so much fun!" WTF? Why do I do this to myself?

I guess four days isn't so bad. I'm learning.