A page turns

A page turns and I tell you my emotion.
Five years ago, I wrote my first book to bring people together to comfort children and the well-being of their parents.
My editor would become a valued friend. We first met over my writing; he was surprised, he discovered me. He wanted the launch to be highly visible so that everyone could do the same. I learned that a launch can be very fragile when events didn't favor immediate success.
So I quickly received the boxes of my unsold books in my living room. Yet, and despite all these thoughtful and emphatic kind words.
Discouraged, I watched my two-year-old son build a fort out of boxes and, above all, insist that these thousands of books remain in the room, before my eyes, day after day. My lover must have been so good to continue to value me and seem convinced that my work will be read and shared.
"But I can't go door to door?" I pondered in my heart. How can he believe in me like that?
It's also that at that time, I wasn't on TV or anywhere. I had started to follow my ideas and no one knew, looking at me, where I was going. I followed my heart, my instinct and it still didn't resemble anything. I myself couldn't make any connections between the school I had just set up, the barely begun garden and this book written in a cry from the heart for all those babies who were not rocked, not comforted.
did not exist. Nor did the rest of what we know today.
But while the disgruntled shouted loudly, some parents quietly recognized themselves and thanked me. Then others arrived. A little train goes a long way, they say.