Short and Sweet

I have a meeting with Ferguson Books tomorrow in Grand Forks. I'm speaking with a few of the guys there about "The Big Red Devil" and whether they'd like to feature the paperback in their store.

I have no clue what to do with myself. I wanna scream in joy, but I haven't made the sale yet. I feel closer to the dreams we all have, the ones I always had. I feel closer, like I'm hitting all the right avenues . . . but further away.

Every creative person struggles with hating their work. You always believe that all the magic, all the talent, is somewhere else. All those good things belong to other talented people out in the world. At least, that's how I always felt--feel, struggle. When that creeps in, you can go from confident underdog to embarrassed dreamer. It's an awful transition. It isn't pleasant. I hate it.

I'm just trying to breathe and be the person I've always been--confident and sure. I'm just trying to remember back three weeks ago when I believed in the book. Now, I'm not so sure. In an instant, now that real people are seeing it, I want to deflate. I have no reason for doing so. The book is no different. It still is what it is, but for no reason, all of a sudden, it feels lacking. I feel that and the hollow swell of shame rolls over my skin. I feel embarrassed for thinking I could ever do this seriously. I feel stupid, ashamed and naive.

I'm just trying to remember--remember back to when I couldn't hate this story no matter how hard I tried. I tried to hate this book 100 different ways to make sure it was a good one. I feel, felt, like I did that. I'm just trying to remember back to that.

I'm sure the drive to Forks tomorrow will give me enough time to remember if I can.

Best,

John