My eyes welled up with tears when I read the first email. The words on the screen said, “Appointment to meet with a publisher.”
I felt gripped by fear thinking, “who was I to be writing a book?” And mixed with my insecurities was the reality that my book wasn’t even finished yet. I felt like a failure before I even started this whole process.
‘Delete’ went the email.
But I was haunted by my reality. I needed to make a decision because my deadline was moving closer and closer.
A week passed by and another email came by the same person. I opened it and there was that pit in my stomach, again. Why? Because I don’t feel like a writer. It’s not something I have pursued or dreamed of doing. I don’t have a book proposal. No polished pitch. Nothing.
