The last time I gave birth was 23 years ago. When the nurse at Methodist Hospital put Laurika into my arms, I was almost too exhausted and full of demerol to care. (There was also the mild distraction of my soft-spoken Korean OB-GYN running out into the hallway to scream bloody murder over the mismatched pair of forceps she’d just used to deliver my daughter—but that’s another story.)
Exhausted or not, though, I remember the deep, abiding relief and the thrill of pride I felt looking into Laurika’s gorgeous little blood-flecked face.
That’s how I felt at 3AM last night when I approved the final proof of The Tattooed Heart.
So What’s Harder to Deliver—a Baby, or a Book?
Of course it’s not fair to compare babies with books. But, with respect for both creative endeavors, I’ll note that giving birth to them is similar in many respects. They both:
- Take a long, long time to get delivered;
- Cost way more than you think they’re going to;
- Involve loss of sleep, boomerang emotions, and recurring physical aches and pains;
- Have unimaginable repercussions; and
- Take over your entire life.
As a mother, I would have to say that raising my child was the higher calling. But as a novelist, I note a few areas where book-birthing has clear, long-term advantages:
- Unlike with babies, you can give birth to books far into your old age.
- Unlike with babies, you can drink scotch (and indulge myriad other bad habits) while they’re gestating.
- And, unlike with babies—you never have to wash off mashed green peas.