So I finished finished the edits on Rain’s story, and unleashed my terrible creation on my beta readers.
I made one of them cry.
Spoiler alert- someone dies in a book about death magic, and apparently, I’m not the only one who’s come to know and love my characters like real live people. That’s both flattering and terrifying.
Someone else likes my writing. Someone else was so moved by something I had written that her friends were genuinely concerned, afraid she’d lost someone dear to her.
I made someone cry.
This is really heady stuff, and quite honestly, I don’t know what to do with it. Every time I send my works out into the world, a part of me holds my breath, waiting for the “Wow. You know this is crap, right?” that I KNOW is coming. It has to. I can’t possibly be, dare I say it, a good writer.
That part is turning quite blue in the face, waiting.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I know there’s BOUND to be someone out there that doesn’t like my writing. It happens. I’m ready for it. But what I’m not ready for is to admit that I just might have a knack for this writing thing. That it’s not just people being nice when they say it’s good.
I had a reader stay up all night reading my story.
I still can’t get my head around that.
I MADE SOMEONE CRY. O.O
I deliberately crafted words to express an idea, and it worked. Exactly the way I wanted it to. Someone else fell in love with the people they’re supposed to fall in love with, reviled against the villain, and fell into my trap of my surprise ending. It WORKED. It all worked. I still can’t believe it.
I wish I had a tidy way to wrap things up, a message or moral or take home bit of advice, but I still can’t get my head around the idea that my novel worked. It actually worked.
I wrote an ending that made someone cry.
I still can’t believe it.