When I finished writing OM∙less? last spring, my friend Elle observed that it took me about 9 months to write it – just like having a baby. I become more aware every day of just how apropos this comparison is.
All babies begin with a spark. Whether it is the joining of egg and sperm or an inspiration to write a book, it is a miracle. Sure, you know what “caused” it, but you can’t really explain how it became a living thing.
I’ve never had a baby, but I feel what must be a similar sense of awe and wonder when I see this new creation that has never before been in the world. Many authors talk about the moment their books “came to life.” Now I get it.
Nonetheless, the minute your baby (human or literary) is born, you take credit for it. You refer to it as “my” baby/book. You name it. You want to show it off.
Criticism or, God forbid, a bad review is like someone telling you your baby is ugly. It hurts. But, in your heart, you know it isn’t true.
Birth is painful. Yet soon after your baby arrives, you forget about the pain— you may even start talking about the next one.