It bloody well is, you know.
Songs of the Earth is now manifest in physical form, and doesn’t it look pretty, all shiny and clean, ready to be launched into the big bad world to be variously picked apart, analysed, sneered at, reviewed, raved about, blogged over and ignored. Gulp.
I feel like a mother on Junior’s first day of school. Proud, and slightly nervous, smiling brightly and waving goodbye with an emergency hankie or two stuffed up my sleeve.
Actually, scratch that. Junior’s got rather more to worry about than a wedgie and having his lunch money stolen. Some of those reviewers can be downright merciless; it would be an entirely fitting allusion to say I feel like a gladiator’s mum before his first bout, having just walked through the armoury and past the wild-animal enclosure with the screams from the infirmary ringing in my ears.
Still, I’ve done my best, and he’s on his own now. I’ll be proud of him whatever happens. Go get ’em, kid.