Yesterday I read a book called I'm Not the New Me by Wendy McClure. I vaguely remembered her from years and years ago, when I read her website Poundy, but honestly didn't realize it was her until she made reference to it in her book.
I liked the book. I liked it a lot. I liked it so much, in fact, that I sent her a slightly slobbery fan-girl email.
I didn't say this in my email, but one of the things I liked so much about her book was that she mentioned all these websites that I used to look at, years ago, and had forgotten about.
And? I liked that her book was written in 2005. And I just picked it up yesterday.
Because I've been so worried about that. This year. That I have to let everyone in the world know RIGHT NOW TODAY that I've written a book or it will be like the book never existed. Honestly, after the first day? I thought it was all over. I thought that was it and no one else would ever buy my book and it would be an abject failure.
That's not happened.
It's ridiculous, really. When you think about it. My new favorite book Mrs. Mike was first published way back in 1947. I didn't read it until this year. It was amazing.
Books have no life-spans. They will go on.
I find that very comforting.