Today I went over and signed expensive books. I was surprised to realize that they smell, because they’re bound in leather. Everything about them is just so nice. They look amazing. They smell amazing. The weight of it in my hand is amazing.
People keep asking me if I’m excited about the book and I am, truly, excited and happy. But there’s just been a lot, which is gauche to talk about publicly, which makes me, more than anything, just feel sometimes relieved that it’s almost over. For eighteen months people have been telling me that it’s just about to happen and asking me if I’m excited and then seeming disappointed when I can’t maintain the same level of excitement or more excitement over that whole time period.
I’m relieved and satisfied and kind of sad and kid of happy. But I’m not unabashedly excited. I’m nervous. I want people to like it.
Maybe I’m wired screwy, but I don’t see the books and think “Woo!” for me. I don’t experience them as something awesome that is happening to and for me. I look at them as the culmination of a lot of hard work a lot of people did to make something nifty for whoever reads it. If anyone reads it. Which I hope they will, obviously.
I just don’t experience the end of this being me having books in hand. I experience the end of it as readers having books. I’m excited and nervous and hopeful to see what you guys will make of it.
So, I don’t mean to disappoint people when they look at the book and they ask me if I’m excited. I just don’t really think my excitement is all that important. I want the reader to be excited and I don’t yet know if that’s the case.