Okay–usually my inner world is more exciting than this.
Usually, my brain is sort of pinging from moment to moment and place to place–music, television, movies, books–you name it, I’m thinking about it and, hoocha hoocha hoocha–lobster! (For those of you who don’t follow Eddie Izzard, I just mangled a truly great bit there. Really. It was hilarious. I swear.)
But all I can think about right now are my amazon.com numbers. With the exception of Bitter Moon I (*sigh*) they are absurdly high.
Now my first reaction is, of course, a sort of anxious glee. SOMEONE is reading my book–will they like it? Will the editing bother them? Will Cory’s swearing put them off? I keep waiting from someone on the right-wing-morality brigade to ring me up and threaten to egg my house because of the sex in the Little Goddess books, and I’ve even gotten pinged on reviews for it, and I do not want to offend anyone who thought they were buying Hi-lites for Children and got Playboy instead.
But the numbers have been high–as in two or three copies of Vulnerable a day–for an entire week now, and my anxiety is bubbling down to a sort of nauseated terror–you know, like a bad steak in a bottle of lab-acid.
Somebody is going to review my book. Several somebodies. I know it’s coming. And, because the books are not neutral territory, and because a lot of kind people have been comparing me favorably to Stephanie Meyer and it’s going to be a let down that I’m very very different, some of those somebodies are going to review me badly.
I’ve done this before–a lot of you read the post “Virginity is Overrated” and bolstered me up then. I’ve gotten a couple of negative reviews since. (Okay, that was vague. The truth is that I’m narcissistic and neurotic enough to spit up my amazon.com stats from worst review to best review at any given moment at any given day, but I try not to bore people to tears here…it’s sort of a goal of mine as a blogger.) But what’s coming is going to be bigger than that–both bigger bad and bigger good, and all I can see of it now is a sort of vague pressure, like a psychic knowing about an avalanche, but not knowing when to duck.
I really hope people like it. I REALLY REALLY REALLY hope people like it. And, after they like it, I hope they’re willing to wait until this time next year for the next one. And it would be really cool if they read Bitter Moon I (not NEARLY as much sex and swearing in that one, I promise!)
But mostly, even if they don’t like it, and even if they want to voice their opinion about it, I hope they do it nicely. I keep waiting for the review title of “Complete Moron Writes a Crappy Book–Somebody Alert the News!” Just because it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it’s not coming!
So that’s it–kids have come and gone, my Juniors and Seniors have managed to foul up two completely relevant, decent projects that they had three weeks and class time to work on, my children have done very cute things (Dad walked in yesterday and the Cave Troll ran up to him and said, “Dad, you have to do your job!!! There’s DOG POOP in the back yard and YOU have to pick it up!” And Ladybug–in the bath for, I would imagine, obvious and odorific reasons– spoke up. “Dad pick up the POOP!!!” I’m sure dad was very tempted to turn around and go back to work, where the words “Dog Poop” are never mentioned in terms of things he must do.) and my older children have been a source of annoyance and affection and I’ve had some great times at the lunch room at work but…
The one thing (besides the plot for BMoonII) buzzing around my brain pan is the one thing I shouldn’t be obsessing about, the one thing I can not change or help, and the one thing that, truly, doesn’t make a damn bit of difference in my life.
It really is an odd source of tension.
