I think I have a pathological problem when it comes to getting excited about things that a person is supposed to get excited about. I think it's for two reasons: Reality tends to never gel with the wild expectations of my imagination, and I am far more intrigued by potential than accomplishment. I love the creative rush of starting a project, making decisions and trying to coax the thing in my imagination into existence. But when it's done, it's done, and it's just the thing that it is. And even though it might objectively be quite good, in my mind I'm always comparing it to something else it could have been. (I imagine parenting is much the same.) And I need to learn to stop.
Plus when I hear the term "book release" I mentally picture a cage of wildly flapping books being opened, and the whole rustling flock of them being released and flying away into the sky, leaving a trail of tattered words in their wake. But it's not. Stupid lame reality.
Despite not being able to fly, my book
Frank the Gentle Viking was well received at my little release party. Even though most of my child audience didn't have object permanence yet.
I love watching babies when they're being read to. They
study the pictures and the words. Like an archaeologist trying to decipher hieroglyphs, you can tell they're thinking "this means something".
I also went to a couple of day schools to read to kindergartners on Monday. They totally ate it up! Before I even sat down, one little boy saw me holding my book and came up to me and asked "Can I read your book?" Heck yes, you can read my book!
I gave them a book and they adopted me as one of their own. That was my favorite part of the story.
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