It's good. Apparently.
Before I dared send out the draft copies of "Dispelling the Clouds," I wanted my dear husband to read it so I gave him the first proof, then pretended to work around the house. I hovered. I watched, I noticed every move he made.
I was unbelievably nervous. Understandably.
More than anyone else, his approval of the book was important to me. He has vested interest. I know he is protective of me and our story together. (He has to live with anything I publish.)
But even more critical, is that he is also a good copy-editor. He is one of these perfectionists who can get annoyed with obvious mistakes. I knew he would find every missing period, every extra comma - and any inappropriate word.
Whereas I am the exact opposite - I worry about concepts, story lines and factual accuracy - who cares about commas.....
so I hovered. Every smile, Every frown - and ever tear. And yes there were tears. I was surprised at the intensity of his reactions throughout.
We have both lived the story together - and yet apparently putting it into words, creates another space for learning.. I had felt the same way writing it as he did reading it.. It was as if it was all new again.
"Well?" I asked breathlessly as he turned over the last page.
"It held my attention." he said - almost as if he was surprised.
"What is it about?" I asked.
"The book is about the experiment of trying to live with a forgiveness attitude, and the success and failure of that effort. In the end, it summarizes the end results, the remarkable miracle of it all.
"Who is it for?" I asked.
"I would say it is a book for r everyone who is interested in exploring the broad human concerns and issues that face everyone in their daily lives. It a story that shows that living a life in the pursuit of forgiveness is not boring. It is a story filled with challenges and amazing miracles."
His favorite chapter ? "The last one. You could even enhance it more."
And the book. "Is it good?" I asked.
He nodded. "It's good,"
Then he handed me his notes. And as I expected, he took careful notes. When I went through his notes later, I found exactly what I thought - he had found an error on every page.
"It's a draft", I tried to explain.
He smiled. "It's good, Wilma - really good."
Who cares now - what anyone else thinks.... -- actually I still do.
“No book can ever be finished. While working on it we learn just enough to find it immature the moment we turn away from it” - Karl Popper