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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.
I loved this book! Just like Cheryl on the trail towards the end, she didn't hurry. I read slowly as I got close to finished so I could keep it going. Read morePublished 2 hours ago by Lisa J. Shultz
Great book, love how she incorporates her back story into feelings & thoughts while on her hike. My only complaint is the ending. Read morePublished 2 hours ago by Amazon Customer
I like non fiction stories. Most of the book was repetitive. I think it would have been a better book with beautiful pictures of that trail. Read morePublished 5 hours ago by Dorothy Simpson
i am still reading the book, but like what I have read so far.Published 5 hours ago by Josephine Clifford
Cheryl has a writing style that I really enjoyed; real, honest and dynamic. I admired the fact that a grown up woman could write in the mind set of a 26-year old, with all the... Read morePublished 7 hours ago by Paula Liebe
I loved this book. It caught me from the very beginning and wouldn't let go! Her experiences on the PCT were funny, scary, enlightening. Read morePublished 10 hours ago by Laura L. Allmacher
Since I'm a hiker, I truly loved this book. I could appreciate the challenges although I have only done day hikes. I will certainly take a whistle with me from now on.Published 11 hours ago by Claire A. Chomiak
It was ok, not very capturing or wanting to turn the next page. Good portrait of Ireland though!Published 23 hours ago by lorraine carr