Oh, I know. Saying that out loud is taboo. Release day should be full of joy and celebration. All my hard work culminated in that one moment when the link is finally live. Got your one-click finger ready?
Yeah...no. Release day is depressing. It's the one day when my expectations aren't met, when my neuroses move in for the long winter, when every single doubt and insecurity I have about myself explodes to the surface and lays like a thin film over my soul.
I tell myself not to feel this way. I should feel happy, proud, accomplished. And some small part of me does. The bigger part of me wonders why no one else is as excited as I am.
Social media has ruined me. Before becoming an author, I didn't post, tweet, snap, whatever. I had a small Google+ account where I posted pictures of flowers and my furbabies. I didn't interact, I didn't share, I was happy in my own quiet world.
Then I discovered I needed to market myself. Market my brand. I feel I do a pretty good job. Not as great as some, better than others. (There I go with the comparisons again.) I share, I support, I do what I can to contribute to the author community. So why after nine releases do I feel like I'm alone in the lifeboat in the literary sea?
I hate myself for feeling this way. I can't allow my self-worth to be based upon what anyone thinks of me, whether or not they approve or cheer me on or like my posts. I can't. I know that. But for the girl who was never included, who was never invited to parties or proms, who spent the majority of her time alone, not seeing the fanfare hurts.
Okay, enough self-pity. I have more books to write. And more release days to
Right...
