The Difference between Your First Novel and Your Second

Your first novel was a warbling and uncertain thing, standing on too-thin legs like a nervous fawn. Your second novel is a punk rock show, complete with sweaty mosh pit and drunk guy throwing elbows in everybody’s faces.

Your first novel was a bid for approval, a quiet bookish student in the back of the classroom hoping to be noticed. Your second novel is a confrontation at a bar, all pumped up on whiskey and false bravado.

Your first novel was a child at prayer. Your second novel is an asshole with a megaphone.

Your first novel was a safe place for you to hide. Your second novel is the weird birthmark you keep showing to people on the bus.

Your first novel was your training wheels. It was how you learned to occupy public literary spaces and defend yourself. This was how you took up arms. Your first novel taught you how to fly.

Your second novel is how you’re going to crash into the ground. And you can’t wait to jump.