This post may feel a little repetitive. I know I’ve been using my blog as a way to process all the emotions swirling around this launch. What can I say? I’ve never launched a self-published anything before. It brings up feelings. 😉

A little personal note: the past ten days or so have been rough. My poor little nervous system took a stumble as I tried to balance some health-anxiety garbage (if you know, you know), wrapping up (pun intended) the holidays by packing all of that festive joy away for the next eleven months—I can’t be the only one who gets a little blue doing this, surely. Add to that an insanely busy, mentally and emotionally exhausting work period, getting accepted into my grad program only to decide to switch to a less intense one that wouldn’t steal from my writing time, and all of it sitting on top of the upcoming book launch and all the things that needed to be done for that.

Don’t get me wrong—I am so excited for this and truly enjoying this chapter of my life. I keep telling myself that I’m keeping my expectations low, that if no one outside of my personal circle buys it or reads it or likes it, that’s okay… it is still a personal accomplishment I’ve wanted to finish for more than a decade. If it stops there, I’m still happy.

But then there’s that secret, terrified little girl part of me, deep down inside, who will be devastated if it doesn’t get traction—or worse, if it does but isn’t well received.

All of the fear and trepidation and procrastination that kept me from finishing this book for so long manifested themselves in multiple crying sessions over the past ten days. But because I don’t want to lie in a corner and cry all day (who has time for that?), I keep showing up. I keep doing the things I’m supposed to do. I keep writing. I keep asking for help—sometimes just in the form of a hug from my husband, or time away from my desk at work. I keep trying to find the joy, even on the days I’m not feeling anywhere near joyful.

It’s all I can do.

Today, my debut novel, Sketch, is out in the world. All I can control now is how much exposure it gets—by reaching out to local bookstores, placing ads, attending bookish events, and asking for continued support from my constant cheerleaders.

And even if no one reads it, or likes it, I know I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep trying to get better. And I’ll keep giving myself grace.

Thank you for reading and for being here.

If you’re carrying something heavy right now, I hope you can offer yourself a little grace, too.