Worried, Happy, Nervous

Worried Leads to Happy Leads to Nervous … Or my experience with the Hunger Games.

I’ve been working at the Sylvan Lake library for a few months now. I’ve seen and read several new books that I really liked, hogged the ones that I loved, and complained about the ones that were terrible (sorry, Gerch, but I just can’t take your book seriously. At all.).

Since getting nominated for one of my fan fictions (which I won 1^st place for, woot!), I’ve been trying to spend more time writing. I’ve been neglecting my writing since school started, and I started working part-time, and all this bullshit with my adopted brother hit the fan. I have always loved writing, but lately it’s been seeming like a chore - so much easier to just plop in a movie and fall asleep. (I know, I suck.)

Anyways, for some time now, I’ve been hearing about this book trilogy called “The Hunger Games”. My workmates have been talking it up like there’s no tomorrow. I hadn’t decided if I was going to read it, though, until I saw a preview for the upcoming movie. The preview looked awesome enough for me to want to watch the movie. Since I’m the kind of person who hates when books get made into movies - ‘cause they ALWAYS leave too much out/change too much - I decided I’d at least have to read the series first.
Ooh boy … I have not gotten much sleep in the last few days.

I took the first book home from the library on Friday, and started reading it Sunday. I finished it after work Monday, and just about screamed at the cliffhanger ending. What the FRACK???? How could you do this to me, Suzanne Collins? I did not have the second and third books! How cruel!!!

After I settled down, and my dog stopped staring at me like I was crazy, I told myself that I would just grab the second and third book from the library, knowing that we had both of them in our collection. Good idea in theory, but of course BOTH of the books were signed out. Grr …

Enter my awesome workmate. I had requested the books, and the third one came in on the van run (explanation: one a week we send books to and receive from other libraries), but not the second! I would have to restrain myself from reading the third book until the second came in, which could be up to two weeks! Restraint is not my middle name. I can’t imagine a time I’ve ever successfully used restraint (with the possible exception of hunting down my adopted brother’s biological mother and bludgeoning her to death … I’m not AT ALL bitter). Luckily, I did not have to test my non-existent restraint. My workmate went home for her break, and came back with the second book. Love. Complete and utter love. I may have to bake her cookies, or something.

Anywhoo, that was yesterday. I finished the second book at one o’clock in the morning. I loved it. But I was also feeling a bit worried.

So many parts of the Hunger Games (the woman warrior, the girl protecting her younger sibling, the father that died when she was young, the primitive weapons, the barbaric fighting, the love triangle, the three-novel series - to name a few things) ARE SO MUCH LIKE MY NOVEL! Obviously there are some major differences, but I couldn’t help seeing the parallels. I started overanalyzing, like I always do: “I thought my novel was so original, but then there’s this. And it came first! Who would want to read my novel, when they have this?” Worry, worry, worry.

But then I stopped. “Hang on … this novel has done really well. Everyone loves it. It ends with three. My novel isn’t EXACTLY like The Hunger Games, but it shares a lot of aspects that people like. Maybe this isn’t so bad … maybe this means people will LOVE my novel!” And so, my worry turned sharply to happy. I started thinking about finishing up the editing in my novel, and trying to publish it.

And then the happy turned to nervous. “Oh, jeeze … published. Actually putting my work out there. For people to actually … read.” Sure, I’ve just won an award for one of my fan fictions, but that’s just that: “fan fiction”. Me playing with someone else’s work. It was the first time I’d ever received outside praise for my work, other than people reviewing my stories. The workmate that leant me the book was the first person to read my fan fictions, and then comment on them to my face. She said she loved it, but I nearly died when she told me.

How am I going to cope if I actually get published? I might just have to curl up in a cold, dark corner and die.

But, at some point, I’m going to have to stop hypothesizing about what might happen when I get published. My novel has been finished for a year. I’ve been writing since I was six years old, it has always been my biggest dream. I’m making enough money now that I could consider self-publishing … Oh boy. Even typing those words is making me nervous. At some point, I’m going to have to take that leap. Put my work out there, see what people think. It’s terrifying. It’s enough to make me want to close my laptop, and never type a single word again.

But, I can’t. I’m addicted. Writing it my drug. Reviews are my heroin. Worried. Happy. Nervous. Bouncing between the emotions like a ping pong ball.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll pull out my novel, finish the editing, and send it to my friend to do illustrations. Tomorrow I’ll decide between self publishing, and traditional. Tomorrow I’ll get off my ass, and stop being an “aspiring” writer. Tomorrow.

Today, I have the third Hunger Games novel to finish. And it had better be good.