I wrote a book

I did.

It is written and now it is out there for people to just buy. Or not buy.

But some people actually have bought it!

They have bought it and read it and now they have thoughts and feelings about it.

And worse! Some of those thoughts and feelings filled people are asking for another one. Which is an obvious next question. I get it. I’d be asking the same thing if I had just picked up a book, read it, and liked it. (Does it even matter if the author says people like it?) Said people wouldn’t be asking if I were going to publish another book if they didn’t like it… unless! Unless they are just jerk people that like to watch when people trip so they can point and laugh and talk to their friends about it.

I don’t think this is the case. That’s paranoia and a deep rooted pessimistic voice in the back of my head I have to hush every now and again.

So I’ve published a book. Because saying I’ve written a book is an understatement. I have written many books. I’ve just never shared any of them with the whole, soul-sucking world before this one. That First Punch to the Head. Not my first, not my longest, not my special baby that I labored over with tears and agonizing self-doubt. That First Punch to the Head is a story from a single sentence that got stuck in my head while I was walking a trail on my sister’s property.

A single sentence turned into a draft, into a second draft, that got stuffed in a second notebook, that I lost for a few years in a cabinet, picked up, read it, and began again.