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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.
An incredible journey. Loved every page in this book! I have hiked many trails but always with a group. The courage she had to undertake this journey is amazing.Published 1 hour ago by Amazon Customer
Cheryl writes in a way that you are with her in that moment. I wish their was more to see her lifePublished 2 hours ago by Maureen Trimble
This book journals the emotional, physical and mental development of its author as she begins to understand her fortitude and the eventual appreciation of herself and... Read more
It's a great read. Cheryl loses and finds herself, learning just how much courage and strength she has.Published 5 hours ago by Nanette Pastor-Hanna
Cheryl Strayed drew me in right away with her vibrant and precise language. I connected to her story through the fierce directness in her voice. Read morePublished 9 hours ago by Mary Ann
I LOVED this book. Cheryl has a way of writing that was so relatable to.m and I get the feeling that it's a universal relatability. Read morePublished 22 hours ago by amber lackey
To say I was inspired would be a gross understatement. I highlighted several sections of text throughout the book that were especially profound. I highly recommend this book!Published 1 day ago by Amy Frame