I was asked, for an interview, what advice I could offer other writers now that I have finally "got there."
My advice? You never get there.
I received a statement of my royalties in the mail the other day. That means my publisher told me how many books I've sold so far. Boo-hoo is all I can say. A big, fat boo-hoo.
All we ever want, we think, is for this one thing to happen. And then it does, and we change our minds and now we want this one thing to happen.
"You got a book published!" my husband says. Boo-hoo. Boo-hoo. "Oprah didn't read it," I said.
"Imagine all those books you sold lined up in the living room. There wouldn't be room!" he says. Boo-hoo. "I didn't make the best seller list."
"Think of all the people you've made laugh." Boo-hoo. Boo-hoo. "Is that enough?"
Is that enough?
And the sun rises and falls, and the children laugh and scream, and the bloggers keep on blogging into the vast quiet of the internet.
I look at these children. They are already good enough. We come out good enough. Boo-hoo, boo-hoo. We just forget.