“I didn’t like it.” She confessed. I stood there and listened as she criticized my book. Did her criticism bother me? Not as much as the fact that she’d read my book. I wrote under a pen name, a pseudonym, to prevent certain people from reading it. She was one of them. Unfortunately, the best-laid plans of mice and men.

   Where do I go from here? It’s a question that I have been pondering ever since. I’m not asking if I should keep writing or not. That would be like asking a puppy to stop barking or a cat to never purr. Writing is in my blood.  What I am pondering is whether I should make some significant changes to my book and republish it. I haven’t had enough sales for it to make a difference.

   Why would I want to do that? Because of so many reasons, the least of which being why I valued my anonymity, which I am still reeling from. How did I get found out? TikTok. Out of the millions of viewers that exist. My videos had to travel to the FYPs of people who would recognize me. Thank you. TikTok.

    A trend that went on social media this Halloween had people considering their worst fear as a writer. My worst fear as a writer has been realized, and now I have to pick up all the pieces and carry on.