Listen, I'm the one who whined for years and years about not being able to get my books published, and now here I am on the verge of publishing book number two, a linked collection of stories I wrote quite some time ago, I must admit to a little ennui. Mice: Have no sympathy, empathy or compassion for me. You can even stop reading right here if you are rolling my eyes at my stupid feelings. I am, however, going to discuss this issues as a human phenomenon, which is really no excuse, more like a sociological/psychological anecdote of the crazy that is my head.
Here's what I propose: When you put so much of your professional worth into a single novel and a follow-up book of short stories, and then try for a decade or so to get someone (anyone!) interested in publishing it, you probably cannot achieve the kind of results that will live up to the weight of your career hopes and dreams. (I use professional and career to also stand for identity and self worth, unfortunately.) This is not to say that I am disappointed in the results of the novel; I was in People Magazine as a pick of the week with Stephen King and Annie Lamott, for shit's sake. It's just that somehow I thought it would all amount to so much more, or a different me, or something. And so approaching the launch of book number two (pub date: this November), I am finding it hard to make such a huge investment. Is that wrong? Of course it is, but I don't think anything will really do what I want it to do. I need a spiritual awakening or a spiritual practice or something that does for me what a published book will not. Anyway, just thought I'd share. I will get my ass and gear and this too will pass. Just seems kind of ironic to feel this way after all the LROD complaining, right? Well, maybe it's just today. At least it is raining in the Northeast; we need it for the trees and gardens.
Life never ceases to amaze, does it?
1 comment:
I totally get you. I am also totally excited for your second book!
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