The package lay on the floor, tossed carelessly by a child who found it on the front porch. It lay there unclaimed until I took a break from work to get some water. I picked it off the floor, noticed the absence of any Amazon branding and wondered who might have sent me something. As I felt the package for shape, it dawned on me that I was handling my book babies.
I felt a rush of excitement as I searched for scissors.
“Videotape me!” I commanded Saathi and he obliged readily.
I grabbed the scissors and moved over to the dining area that had better light. My hands shook as I wielded the scissors and I took a moment to confirm the sender was indeed Westland. It was.
I pried open the bubble wrapped books repeating OMG as if it were some mantra. The moment despite how many times I had imagined it in my head was just as magical. The first view, the first touch and the leafing through the pages was incredible. Long after I had put away the books, I was overcome. I had to sit, to let the feelings flow, to give in to the enormity of the moment. It is not every day that a book you wrote manifests itself physically in front of you. The words inside, stuff that came out of your head. The characters, your progeny.
The story though is no longer mine.