Confessions of an Author

I have a confession to make...

I thought the first time I would hold my book in my hands would be incredible. My childhood dream had finally come true.

Oddly enough, after finishing it, a sense of sadness washed over me. It was as if it was no longer mine, no longer a part of me. Instead, it felt like a mere speck of dust in an endless sea, invisible and insignificant.

But that's precisely what my book aims to do – to bring those hidden specks into the light, to make them visible.

Perhaps this mixed emotion is a good thing after all. It's a sign that now, this thing has a life of its own. Maybe this is a form of grief, mourning a part of me that is no longer solely mine but belongs to all of you, to everyone, everywhere.

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