Anxiety about book publishing

This is me at some point last year, using my girlfriend’s laptop (which was later stolen by a thief on the streets) to sort out the logistics of my book release.

So yeah — I’m anxious. I think it’s important to be honest about these things. I’m nervous to release my first solo book. Why?

I knew I wanted to be a writer when I was really young, before I think I was even conscious (I like to say I gained consciousness in my late teens) — so the thought of actually reaching the point that I publish my book has always been exactly that: a thought. A dream. An aspiration. I’ve built up to this moment for so long now, and now that I’ve reached it, I’m filled with stomach-curdling dread.

Shouldn’t I be thrilled?

I am, really. And it’s that thrill that scares me. I’m happy with the final result of this novel. I’m satisfied with the story I am telling and the way I’ve chosen to tell it, taking huge experimental risks because that’s just what I do.

But I’m still nervous. Because it feels a little anti-climactic. It feels like success, but at great cost. It feels like the end, but also just the beginning. It feels like a thousand ogling eyes haunting me, hating me. It feels like exposure and intimacy.

Publishing is scary. It’s always going to be scary. I already know that it gets easier as you go along the journey, and I know I’m still so, so, so early in my own writing life. I shouldn’t be worried because it’s just a debut. There will be others. If this book…