The Book That Exists (Even If It’s Nowhere Yet)

At dawn in mysticTuscany (photo Karin Sziva)

There’s a strange place I live in lately.

It’s the place between finished and not yet published. Between I’ve written a book and no one can read it yet. Between dancing in creative fullness and waiting for a gate to open.

Rebelleheart exists.

It is written.

It breathes.

It has gone out to literary agents who receive dozens of submissions each week. So far, it’s waiting for the right hands to say yes.

And of course, Plan B knocks: self-publishing. I know the landscape—how a book, even a beautiful one, can disappear in the endless Amazon abyss. How marketing is its own art, one I never wanted to master. I am not the screaming out load type of person. I moved in different communities, but I've never built one. There's a slight uncomfortable part in me, a doubting voice like a snake saying " How should you do that? Without giving your last financial shirt for Ad's. There is such a flood of information, how should the right persons find you, find Rebelleheart ?" But there is another voice, tender, patient.

So still, this book insisted on being born. A ten-year pregnancy. Countless letters. Raw, unsent love. Silence. Grief. Presence. All of it real.

Therefore I built this site. Not because I have a book deal. Not because I know how this ends. But because Rebelleheart already exists.

And I want you to know it. I want it to be visible. To find its kin. To stretch in the light.

Some days I overflow with creative energy. Others, I sit with a quiet ache—wondering if this baby will ever be seen. If anyone will recognize it. If the ones meant to whisper, "Yes, this is for me," will ever stumble upon its pages.

In the deepest way, I trust Rebelleheart. I picture it like a being of its own—far wiser than I am. While I wrestle with uncertainty, it waits. Patient. Certain. Ready to rise when the time comes.

And perhaps this post isn’t just about a book.It’s about trust.

About continuing, even when no one sees you yet.

About the quiet power of art that knows what it is—even if no one else has named it yet.

To those of you who stumble into this space:

Welcome. You are early. You are necessary. You are part of the birth.

🌿If something in you feels drawn to this not-yet-born book—if Rebelleheart stirs something unnamed but alive—I’d be honored if you stayed close. So if you feel a strong pull to this unbirthed baby you’re warmly invited to sign up for the newsletter at the bottom of my Startpage, share a post or the website with someone it might touch, or simply hold this work in your heart as it finds its way into the world. Every quiet witness matters.