I can only say that the waiting is like a birth(in some ways) because each time I’ve put a book out into the world I have dreams of birth—babies lost, disappeared, or crying. A few weeks ago, I dreamt of a baby that was complete and sitting up in a crib. My manuscript that I’ve carried in my mind for my whole life and worked on for many more years that I want to admit—is finally going to appear. It sits up in a crib and looks out through the wooden bars. Who will hold it?
But of course giving birth to my children was a physical push, nothing like the mental energy that can be expended waiting and at times worrying about how those letters of the alphabet turned words, turned sentences turned paragraphs will be read.. And perhaps that is the key: to remember the creation—each book a different DNA—each voice a different writer—never, ever to be done in the same way again.
Causes Louise Nayer Supports
Southern Poverty Law Center
Doctor's Without Borders