’Twas the Night Before the Book Launch

’Twas the Night Before the Book Launch

’Twas the night before launch day, and all through the house,
Not a keyboard was clicking, not even a mouse.
The manuscript rested, complete and aligned,
After months of hard labor, revisions, and grind.

The chapters were tightened, the fluff cut away,
Each sentence pulled closer to something to say.
The cover stood ready, both honest and clean,
Not shouting for clicks, but quietly keen.

The author sat back, not restless with fear,
But calm in the knowing of why this was here.
This book was not rushed. It was written with care.
It had weight. It had purpose. It earned its right there.

No hoping for luck. No wish cast to chance.
The plan had been built with deliberate advance.
The market was studied. The reader was known.
The message stood firm on a foundation of stone.

The email was drafted, not begging or loud,
Just steady and clear, with no borrowed crowd.
The page told the truth of what waited inside,
No tricks, no disguise, nothing hollow to hide.

The launch was not noise. It was sequence and flow.
A signal, not static, sent only to those
Who needed the words, who felt the same pull,
Who were tired of shallow and hungry for full.

And when morning arrived, there was no sudden cheer,
No viral explosion, no flood of fake tears.
Just sales earned honestly, one reader at time,
Each book finding hands it was meant to find.

So remember this night, if you hope to be heard,
If you sit with a story or weighty idea unheard.
Books are not wishes you toss in the air,
They are built, they are shaped, they are launched with care.

This is not luck whispered soft in the dark,
Nor a sudden bright flame struck fast from a spark.
It is craft joined with message, with patience and plan,
This is how books endure, long after they land.