the one day (at a time) we have
I've had some weird days recently
Here are three things I would do differently if I could write my first book all over again:
Read the whole thing out loud as I go (rather than realise awkward repetitions and crunchy moments in the audiobook recording, or get frustrated at the amount of times you say ‘warm vodka.’ We get it, Lauren, you were a vodka drinker).
Write the damn page numbers of quotes taken from books for when I have to do citations (rather than spend a frantic evening on a deadline, skim reading about 10 books trying to find them manually).
Actually listened to people who told me that your first book is a moment in time, and not an everlasting, eternal depiction of your best work, and accept that with a degree of humility (rather than ignoring that, think that I might be able to beat the game, and put a black-hole’s level of pressure on myself to make my first book something it could never be).
I also probably wouldn’t change anything, because I am of the learning-from-your-mistakes school, and this was the curriculum. As the process continues I’ll discover new mistakes, because that is the nature of mistakes, and none of them will be the end of the world. Probably just a little bit uncomfortable, famously a sensation the addict cannot tolerate. But I’ve come to realise throughout my recovery and writing a book about it that discomfort won’t kill me.
When I got the contract for my book deal, a pdf I could use an e-signature for and return to the relevant parties, I also printed it off and signed it with a pen, to have tangible evidence of a dream coming true. My boyfriend captured the moment in a picture, with all my disbelief and excitement. What isn’t in the picture is the voice from a wise place inside me, as clear as the day it told me the party was over and I needed to choose recovery, that said: “this book will not keep you sober.”