So when you have created enough pages to call a book, admittedly a brand new project and therefore prone to review, you can’t help but assume a precious ownership over those pages.

This lovely, rounded object of beauty that I have worked on for a far longer gestation period than it took to grow my babies, would be taken from my nurturing embrace, ripped from the cradle of my hard drive for the purposes of editing, amendment and revision.

It would be so difficult to watch those fledgling pages flung out into the ether, never to return to their innocent, unformatted freedom, altered forever for the comprehension of others.

“What’s the hook for your book?”

“What research was undertaken for the facts used?”

“How much time are you prepared to spend on marketing your book?”

“Do you write a blog, have you a YouTube channel?”

“You are on Face Book, right?” (I’m not…)

Well thank goodness its not quite ready yet anyway.

I still have a full chapter, handwritten, located within an inner section of a notebook, hidden and held back like the guilty collection of babygros and first shoes that have never made it out to the charity bins for the hungry hoards to use and abuse.

I love my book, I love it so much that sending it off to be criticised and rebuked seems as hard as sending those babies off to school.

“You worry too much”…it has been said before, after all my beloved children faired well and are making their own stories  that I had no hand in creating.

“If you love someone or something you have to let go” often my advice to others….it seems so difficult now that first shoe is on the other foot.