How hard was it? someone asked me.

So, I’m over at Wattpad today, checking out how many people have read the first installment of Trouble on Reserve, (cause I’m curious like that) and I realize there’s a little talk button, and someone’s asked me a question. Oh, I’m torn. I had told myself I could take on one more PR commitment as long as it didn’t involve one-on-one interaction with the readers, as in personal emails, and I don’t know if this is a public forum or private. But I clicked it, and was immediately thrown back to my awkward past.

Someone wanted to know how hard it was to become published.

Sigh. Okay, do I even have the knowledge that this person is looking for anymore? I mean, I found publication before e-books and when self-publishing was 300 oversized copies you carry around in your trunk. There was hardly an internet, spammers were just learning to spam, the Big 6 were really six publishers, and slush piles were still a viable option.

But one part of my answer is still valid. It was hard. Emotionally, trying to get someone to look at my work and say yes was like a barren woman’s ache for a child, a young girl pinning after her first-love, a two-year-old with a skinned knee just wanting his mom. It was a hurt, a need, a lizard-brain gut reaction of must-have.

The want was awful, but from it came the determination I needed to develop the bravery to share my work, learn how to find good advice, and then adapt my work so it was more professional. So when I’m asked, “How hard was it to become published?” my answer will always be, It didn’t matter how hard it was.  I had to do it.

Feed your lizard-brain. Wear the N off your keyboard. Get published.