Publishing a book is not all that it's cracked up to be… it's better.
I had no idea what I was getting into when I received the call. Yes, the "Surprise!-We-love-your-book-and-want-to-publish-it!" call. I was in shock for weeks. I walked through the grocery story chin high, strutting. Thinking, The published author is now picking up a can of peas. The published author smiles in the frozen food section. The published author chooses a loaf of French bread. Driving down the street, I'd sit patiently at a red light. The published author turns left at the corner… You get the picture. I thought everything had changed. It hadn't… though I wasn't entirely wrong either.
A world in which I was published looked exactly the same as the world in which I was unpublished. I still had bills to pay, laundry to do and a dog to walk. However, my feeling of self worth skyrocketed. Perhaps it shouldn't have, but I had been writing long enough that people, even supportive friends and family, wondered why I kept at it.
Why did I persist? Why spend hour after hour researching and writing when I could be out and about—traveling, painting, gardening? It turns out there was enough time in the day to do all the above. And so, as I gardened, I plotted. When we traveled, I researched. And when I painted… well, I painted.
But when all was said and done: I write because I love it. It's part of who I am.