Her email came through on Saturday evening and as I went to bed, I noticed it in my inbox on my phone.  I saw the title and glanced away, scared.

What If I Hated It?

As much as I knew these were just the first versions and that everything could be changed, I wanted to love them so much it hurt.  I dare not open the email because one glance could shock me, creasing my forehead into deep canyons no botox could smooth out, leaving me muttering furiously under my breath, lying awake windmilling, wondering how things could have gone so wrong.  I wasn’t prepared to be hashtag gutted at this time of night.

What If I Loved It?

Yet what if the opposite was true?  I was optimistic – I knew she did great work, the reviews on her website were fabulous and I’d been pretty clear (I thought) about what I liked or did not like for my book cover.  Yet even tending on hopeful, I could not open the email.  For if I fell in love, then the rush of feelgood hormones would keep me awake all night, sharing it madly on every social media outlet known to woman, whilst silently wanting to poke the world awake so they could congratulate me at 1am on Sunday morning.

I Slept On It

And in the morning, once my brain was awake (about an hour after the kids had poked me awake, too early again), I opened the email and stole a glance at the three versions Tanja had created.

Oh.

There it was.  My book.  With my name on it.  I could almost reach out and pick it up (how I wanted to pick it up, to feel its weight, to fondle the cover, to stroke the words, to flick through the creamy yellow pages, to see my words in all their 3D brilliance).

And I knew then that everything was going to be okay.  Not just okay, but brilliant.

Even these first versions had my heart pounding and spread a grin over my face that took hours to wear off (well, until the kids started squealing and fighting).  One step closer to my book.