I have a confession to make.
There is one thing about being an author that I’m not in love with.
In fact, I fear it. I tremble at the thought of having to do it.
Now, I’ve been in sales before. At one point, I sold candles. Yeah. I didn’t do very well with that one. But I was mildly successful when selling for Better Way Imports. I sold LOTS of great things then. The thing was, it wasn’t my work I was selling. It was the work of gorgeous-hearted survivors of human trafficking. Seriously, that kind of thing is easy to sell.
But this. This is different. I’m selling my words. Something I worked on for a very long time. I’m selling a piece of who I am.
It feels self-serving. Ego-centric. Bragadocious.
*According to the Urban Dictionary, bragadocious is “The art of bragging”.
It’s like, every single day lately, I’m saying,
“Hey, I wrote a book. It got published by, like, a real publisher and stuff. I think it’s pretty good. You’ll think it’s awesome, too. So. Like. Buy it. Read it. Tell every single person you’ve ever met to do the same. Right now. Do it.”
It feels so wrong.
People have called me famous. It’s flattering. It makes me giggle a little. If I’m not careful, it gets to my head.
I need to remind myself of one thing…
I don’t want to be famous because of anything I write. I want God to be famous because of it.
And, if I really think about it the right way, I’m not selling my work. I’m selling that which God has gifted me to do. I’m selling the words He allowed me to write for His glory.
And, when I think about it that way, I’m a little more okay with it.