"Does what get any easier? Removing stickers from wood? Downward-facing dog pose? Watching the Red Wedding?" I inquired.
"Book Release Day," she replied.
Ah. That. I immediately told her that no, it does not. That I'm still a nervous, fingernail-biting, room-pacing wreck, fearing an onslaught of bad reviews or worse, complete silence.
But that's not true. I mean, I'm still a mess - but I think my fingernails aren't quite the bloody stumps they were four years ago. I've come to realize that unless you're Stevie King or Queen J.K., release day isn't nearly as important as release month. Or even release year. Don't get me wrong, it's fun to have a "big day" to party with everyone, but the majority of sales and hype don't automatically pour in when the clock strikes midnight.
In other words: it's a marathon, not a sprint. (Yup, I just used a track analogy on you. Hey, it's the only sport for uncoordinated loners, and it provided a lot of downtime for reading.)
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| Note the scrunchi, bad perm and steely look of determination. |
