I reread this book over the last few months, while I was feeling particularly down and I had my doubts. Was anything I said worthy of contemplation? I certainly felt exposed. As if I were some childish adult trying to prove my worth as a mentor and creative guide.
And today, feeling better about myself and life in general, I noticed the other side of the coin. In my own evaluation of other's art I am harsh and unforgiving. I don't consider myself a hater (unless it concerns rap or tattoos) but I am opinionated and harsh sometimes. I try to be less so, with a disciplined approach that mixes equal parts zen and gonzo journalism. Today, I gave myself a much more forgiving, loving, review. Here are my main points.
1. My book is as vulnerable as a song or a poem. I cannot be harsh about it, it was a labor of love.
2. My heart is in the right place with this one. I am genuinely trying to write some advice to my two children and the twin kids of my sister.
3. It is a poem and should be released without shame or judgement.
4. No one is actually going to read it.
I forgive myself today for being too harsh on my optimistic and idealistic writer self. While this may not be the best book I've ever written, it is certainly not the worst, nor the last. Today I included marketing pages on my blogs to drive folks to the Amazon page where they can get the electronic and print versions of the book. And I eagerly await the 10 copies of the book that I ordered over a week ago.
Let me forgive myself and my judginess. And let me launch creative projects with abandon and passion and a carefree editor that errs on the side of expression and joy.
Email me if you need a review copy.
@jmacofearth (also seen on Google+: jmacofearth)
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