I’ve talked before about how an author knows it’s time to shelve a book. I’m not going into that today. Instead, I’m pondering a different part of the same situation.

Why I don’t like to shelve a book. I know for everyone it’s a little different. Hell, for every manuscript it’s a little different.

But there’s always one element that’s the same. Sometimes I hate shelving because I loved the characters, or the plot, or the entire package of story.

But I always feel bad about it because I’m not the only one who put time and effort into that story. Sure, it’s easy for me to say “okay, that’s my time gone”. But it’s far more difficult for me to say “okay, that’s the time gone of everyone who read, offered feedback on, and beleived in my book.”

Which I know, is the entirely wrong reason to not shelve a book. But maybe it just means I haven’t found that one story yet that sings to my heart the way I need it to. Then again, I can’t exactly just wait around for that, right? If I only have one heart-singing book in me, I don’t have much of a career ahead of me.