I’ve sent my novel off to two literary minded friends in two different parts of the world to be read and critiqued. Sending my children off to kindergarten wasn’t this emotionally painful.
Even though I have no illusions of my little manuscript becoming the next great American novel, just as I never imagined either of my kids would one day become president, I hope it has some redeeming qualities; although, I’m totally prepared to do a complete overhaul if it doesn’t.
If my beta readers think my book stinks, I’ll live. Oh, I’ll be depressed for awhile, but then I’ll try to make it not stink. Might need a few glasses of wine to ease the pain, but I have a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon handy. And if Donald Trump could be President, there’s hope for my kids. They’d both do a far better job than he has.