No one can tell you what it’s like to release your first book. You can dream about it and conjure up what you think will happen, but the reality is quite different. It’s like Christmas Day after months of anticipation – and then it’s over in what seems like a moment.

It was a thrilling day, a no-sleep, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of day. My family came from New Jersey and more people showed up for my book launch party than anticipated. The event went smoothly, with lots of laughter and encouraging words – and we raised over $2,600 for the Vermont Foodbank. That alone made all the work worthwhile.

And then the next day came, like any other day, and then the next. I didn’t have any visions of grandeur or high expectations, but I also didn’t anticipate the feeling of loss that somehow overcame me. All these years—literally—it had been just mine. Sure, there were a handful of others who had read it, but it still felt secure and protected, as if it were still in my womb. Now, it feels more like it’s graduated from high school and moved into a dorm room, miles away, with a bunch of other books that never phone home to their parents.

Like any other whose offspring have begun to fly away, I’m slowly coming to terms with this feeling. It’s true that it’s no longer in my hands, but it still needs encouragement and financial support. (I’m just hoping the needed financial support doesn’t persist for four years, and then decide it needs a master’s degree, or worse, decide to drop out!)

In the meantime, two more volumes in the series are in the pipeline, sprinting toward graduation … and I’m pregnant with my fourth!