Dear New Book

Dear New Book,

Welcome to the world! Those last few days involved some epic struggles, didn’t they? I am sorry if it was uncomfortable for you; it certainly was for me. There were hours when I felt you had no end – just a long tunnel, stretching out further and further and then turning in the distance so I could not see around the next bend. 

I kept following what I hoped was your voice. It was singing – such a unique, poignant song that I knew I had to meet the singer. Through hours and hours of pursuit, you kept singing – and I kept running, trying to weed out other voices (mostly my own) tempting me down other paths. 

I did have a rope in my hand to guide me along, built mainly from all these extra threads I kept finding – threads that were all part of you and needed to be woven together somehow. Sometimes my hands felt too small to hold all the threads, and I feared they would slip through my fingers, leaving me groping in the dark. If I dropped even one, I knew our meeting would be less joyous and rich than I’d been dreaming – which, after all this time, was an unbearable thought.

You picked up speed towards the end, which was both exhilarating and slightly terrifying. I wanted so much to reach the end – to meet you in your fullness, but I also dreaded missing one of those threads in my haste, or failing to hear a shifting nuance in your voice as I sprinted through each twist and turn.

I neglected other projects in order to pursue you with my whole attention, which you certainly deserve. In particular, I neglected this blog – so it is fitting, I deem, to announce your arrival here first.