I finished writing a book in February, and last night the three external reviews commissioned by the publisher arrived — Friday night, the last week of the semester when I am tired all the way to my core. Waves of anxiety hit me hard. I pause, should I read them now, or wait until tomorrow, or next week? I decide to take a quick look. I feel my heart pounding. Reviewer one seems to have missed the book’s points completely. The comments focus on side issues, small details. That’s troubling. Reviewer two is positive, positive. My spirits soar. I am relieved and exhilarated. The changes proposed make sense. I can do them. Reviewer three is much more critical. The book needs major reorganization. Its tone is wrong; too argumentative and didactic. I feel myself falling. It hurts when I land.