One of my book projects at the moment (4 in total, I know, I know it’s too many) is a children’s story, a kind of adaptation from a screenplay I wrote about a year ago to novel format. M&M, let’s call it. And today I finished it at last, and thought to myself: what next?
I’m the only one who has read it, ever. And as many of you writerly friends know, the writer herself (in this case) is hardly to most trustworthy critic. Either you salute yourself of this great achievement (but who are we kidding?) or, more likely, you look at your text, your words, and think: so many words, worth nothing.
OR, the third option: you’ve, like me, come to the conclusion that you are in no position to judge your own work and once you’ve done all you can it needs to reach readers, real readers.
In this case, “real” readers means children age 5-9. Do I have any of those in my vicinity? I look around. Nope, not a single one. So I fished on Facebook, among friends and relatives. The response was way more positive than I’d expected and, accordingly, my little magical miniature milieu forest adventure story – that’s the bump-in-to-someone pitch (as opposed to elevator pitch) – has now been sent off to four parents, and lord knows how many children.
“Eek” – that’s the word of the moment. I. Am. So. Nervous.
But then a book is not a proper book without a reader, at least in my opinion. And I’m excited for my heroine to meet the world. I just hope for the children’s sake that the experience is a good one – life should be all fun when you’re young.
I’ll post the reactions here as they come in.
‘Til then! N.
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