In 2016, I sent my novel to bunch of test readers. Trusted friends, avid readers I sort of knew, complete strangers who had volunteered.

I went through their feedback slowly and calmly. Made lists and spreadsheets based on their various likes, loves, hates and dislikes. Since then, the book has been through several rounds of edits. Most in service of making the book as good as it could be, and one to compensate for all the things I hadn't foreseen about a global pandemic (toilet paper crisis, denial, flour black market, vaccine-based conspiracy theories).

Last week, I read through all those feedback submissions again. There were about 150, filled in at various points of the book by 20-some readers.

It's been so long since this first version of the book, I don't always remember the things they comment on. This is a treat. A trail of bread crumbs along the editing journey.

There are sentences they loved. That they've pulled out to talk about. There are things they don't like. Things I've changed, and things I haven't. Most of them liked the book. Some of them loved it. A few thought it was okay. One didn't like it at all.

I know, for sure, that the book I'm about to publish is a lot better than the one they read. This should make me feel good.

I have written 6 novels.
I have begun another 5 novels that I never completed and probably won't complete.
I have begun another 3 novels that I haven't completed yet, but still think I'll complete.

But this one - What Survives - is the first one I've ever felt ready to share with the world. That's scary. Actually, it's terrifying.

With my short story collections, I've always been fairly confident that if you don't like a story, you might still like another. I've known that people read them one at a time, putting them down and picking them back up. I know the time investment feels minimal.

But a novel isn't like that. A novel is never for everyone. My novel won't be for everyone. Those who don't like it, won't like it. And if they make it to the end, not liking what they've read, I will still have claimed hours of their time. Time they could have spent reading something else.

Publishing a novel is an exercise in trust. I have to trust the story to stand on its own legs. I have to trust it to fend for itself, as it will no longer belong to me but to each individual reader and their own imagination. But scariest of all, I have to trust that those who don't like it won't resent me for "stealing" their time.

It helps, then, to have the feedback from the first version - the worst version. Not only to see how much I've grown as a writer, but also to see how much of the very first version was still good. The quotes that were loved, that I know are still in there. The scenes that moved the test readers, and that still move me.

We're two months away from launch, and my heart flutters like a butterfly. I'm wrapping up the final changes, getting ready to push send on the print-ready file.

Ready to do a trust fall.
Ready to publish something that simply isn't for everyone.
(But I sure hope it is for you.)