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I wrote the last line of my first book, Torch, and then spent an hour crying while lying on a cool tile floor in a house on a hot Brazilian island. After I finished my second book, Wild, I walked alone for miles under a clear blue sky on an empty road in the Oregon Outback. I sat bundled in my coat on a cold patio at midnight staring up at the endless December stars after completing my third book, Tiny Beautiful Things. There are only a handful of other days in my life--my wedding, the births of my children--that I remember as vividly as those solitary days on which I finished my books. The settings and situations were different, but the feeling was the same: an overwhelming mix of joy and gratitude, humility and relief, pride and wonder. After much labor, I'd made this thing. A book. Though it wasn't technically that yet.
The real book came later--after more work, but this time it involved various others, including agents, publishers, editors, designers, and publicists, all of whose jobs are necessary but sometimes indecipherable to me. They're the ones who transformed the thousands of words I'd privately and carefully conjured into something that could be shared with other people. "I wrote this!" I exclaimed in amazement when I first held each actual, physical book in my hands. I wasn't amazed that it existed; I was amazed by what its existence meant: that it no longer belonged to me.
Two months before Wild was published I stood on a Mexican beach at sunset with my family assisting dozens of baby turtles on their stumbling journey across the sand, then watching as they disappeared into the sea. The junction between writer and author is a bit like that. In one role total vigilance is necessary; in the other, there's nothing to do but hope for the best. A book, like those newborn turtles, will ride whatever wave takes it.
It's deeply rewarding to me when I learn that something I wrote moved or inspired or entertained someone; and it's crushing to hear that my writing bored or annoyed or enraged another. But an author has to stand back from both the praise and the criticism once a book is out in the world. The story I chose to write in Wild for no other reason than I felt driven to belongs to those who read it, not me. And yet I'll never forget what it once was, long before I could even imagine how gloriously it would someday be swept away from me.
A great read from Cheryl Strayed that tells of her solo journey of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail.
This book is telling a unique story that is just as valid a subject to write and read about, and is well written.
Felt like I was on the journey too, made me really think about my own life and how I am living it.
Incredible adventure story, remarkable journey in so many ways. Beautifully written, heartfelt and touching to read about her relationship to her environment, family, friends,... Read morePublished 1 hour ago by Robert & Denise Warshauer
Great read! Can't wait to see the movie. Beautifully written and great story about a strong woman. A must readPublished 2 hours ago by Amanda Davenport
Good read off to see the movie. Looking forward to seeing how Reese does as Cheryl. Very inspirational story. ExcellentPublished 3 hours ago by Dr m simon
I could not put this book down and have not stopped thinking about it since. I was in awe of her ability to push on in spite of the many hardships she endured. Read morePublished 4 hours ago by Susan Yessian
This lady did a great job of being her own psychiatrist. Through perseverance, she overcame her mental anguish by putting herself through a grueling and sometimes dangerous hiking... Read morePublished 5 hours ago by Wesley Comer
This was an honest book. I couldn't help thinking how much guts it took to bare her soul like that.Published 7 hours ago by kghkat