I'm thrilled and relieved by the reactions of my friends and family to Roseheart. There is also a tiny bit of me that's disappointed. That's the pugilistic middle-child part. I was gearing up my self-defence, and I was getting pretty good with my case. At least in my own head.

Roseheart has taken me so long to finish and publish because I was paralyzed by the fear. It's fiction, but I have to admit to it being semi-autobiographical, or else I'll be known as a liar. Clearly, it follows my life, even if all of the people became their own characters while I was writing it. I was that waitress at the Persian kebab restaurant. I married an Iranian-American customer who was an engineer.

People recognize themselves in Roseheart, and I'd convinced myself that none of them would ever talk to me again after they read it. They would hate me. They would feel betrayed and insulted. Then they would feel lied about. They wouldn't "get it." They would not get the juncture of real life and literature.

For example, Melinda sleeps with Omar and takes peyote, and my friend who did lots of other things Melinda did never slept with Omar or took peyote. And Valerie's mother-in-law Goli Joon--well, certainly my own Iranian mother-in-law didn't have a love affair with the neighbor's father, right? But she did do some of the things Goli Joon did, and by the way, those things were supposed to stay secrets in the family. It's all gotten so muddled up, that I can't even keep track of what really happened and what didn't. That's why Roseheart has to be looked at as 100% fiction, even though it's maybe 50% autobiographical.

I thought it must be so confusing for my friends, my sisters, or anyone else who "is a product of the author's imagination or treated fictitiously," as my disclaimer states.

But they surprised me. They are still talking to me. They're laughing with me, at me, at themselves, and talking about the book with a great deal of maturity and amusement. They're helping spread the news of the book. I can't even believe how encouraging they are--even my Iranian-American husband who is from a culture where reputation and family pride are everything. There's a word for it in Persian--namoose. I thought my book might make him feel like he's lost his namoose. Because the made-up character who is a lot like his wife is a pot-smoking slut (at times!).

Instead, shockingly, he seems proud of me. He's spent many nights doing all the parenting so I can work on my book launch. Maybe he's hoping I at least make a few dollars after throwing away the family reputation? Or maybe he just loves me. Maybe we're all just letting go of caring too much about pride.

It doesn't always happen this way, but it did for me. I'll have to put away my boxing gloves because the fight I was expecting didn't happen.

Tell your story. Take a risk. Don't box yourself into categories too much. If your intentions aren't about hate, if you are telling your own artistic rendering of your truth, then believe in their ability to "get it." And if they disagree, honor their right to tell it their own way.