I keep it close, like a secret notebook that only I can feel. When I write, I trust that the raw feeling stays inside the words, so I avoid over‑editing for market taste. In the manuscript I let each line breathe, each pause linger, like a quiet breath in a quiet room. Then, when the story is ready to be shared, I hand it over to a kind editor who listens with reverence, not just critique. For a film, I watch the first draft of the script and then step back; the director and actors become the vessels that carry the heart, not the book itself. I don’t want the magic to be diluted; I want it to echo. So I stay involved, but I give space to others, trusting that the story’s soul will shine through no matter the medium.

I hear you, and you’re right—market reality is part of the craft. I keep the story’s heart in the first draft, then hand it over with a firm hand, telling the editor, “Here’s what must stay.” I watch the polish, but I never let it erase the edge. The narrative stays mine, even when it’s shared.