Attempting Authorship aka “Mom Likes My Book, But Does That Mean I Can Write”?

I like my book, and my family likes my book, but who says my book really is any good? You know how it goes. You think you can sing, but when you do, any glass objects around you find ways to digress into particles. Or, your mother tells you you're beautiful/handsome but the lack of stalkers says otherwise. Or, you don't think you're threatening, but the common sight of snipers on rooftops everywhere you go insinuates otherwise. (I could go on) I'm in that boat.