Sending Your Work Out Into the World
The journey of our creations
A friend asked the other day . . .
“How’s the writing going?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that.
“Oh, it’s going.”
Truth is, the writing was pretty much done and about to go to the editors. It’s an unsettling time in the progression of a book. Unnerving, truthfully. Anyone who creates—the sculptor to the painter, the musician to the crafter, the home greeting card maker to the weekend gardener— is taking brave steps, big leaps of faith. You are about to put your heart and soul out into the world. Naked to the masses.
Writers write. We toil and work the words. We rewrite and redraft and sweat over internal questions. Is this any good? Who the hell cares what I write? Does it matter? Will anyone read this the way I hope they will? Will they see the nuances? Will they even find it worth their time?
I’ve published through three different publishers a total of 11 books. Some have been bestsellers for the publishing house. Several have won awards. But honestly, I’m not buying a house along the ocean. Martin Scorsese is not calling to direct the screenplay. My royalty checks buy me a few good dinners a year and maybe cover the cost of a getaway weekend or two. This is not a complaint. This is not a woe-is-me moment. Fact is, I rarely look at sales figures. If the publisher is not complaining, I’m happy. Do I want people to buy my books? Absolutely. But in the end, I write for me. I write what I would want to read. My work tends to be meditative, contemplative. One reviewer called one of my novels a “quiet” book. I took that as a compliment. I don’t write for every reader and certainly not to a market. And I happily deal with those consequences.
Still, every time a new manuscript is out to publishers for review, and then certainly when it is taken on and goes through the stages of production — deep editing, copy editing, proofing, cover design, collection of blurbs and endorsements — I walk a tight rope. My nerve endings are raw. I’m skittish and vulnerable.
Here’s one for-instance . . .
With my soon-to-be-published new personal narrative about the process and wonder of aging entitled Daylight Saving Time, I had failed to alert some of those who had been mentioned in the manuscript. I wanted them to get a chance to read it. I’ve always done that in the past. Not only to make sure they know what’s coming, but to check their pulse. Did I get it right? Is this okay with you? It’s not that I need permission, necessarily, but it’s that I want to be respectful of their privacy. This time, I waited too long, and it was a bit of a scramble to get those mentioned to read the manuscript before going to the editors. My bad. I should have reached out long ago. Still, I got it done. Everyone read or at least admitted they “trusted me.”
Then it was deadline time. The publisher moved the date several times so that I could touch it up over and over. (“A book is never finished, finally just abandoned.” — author, Esther Kellner.) And when I finally sent it off, I had a strange sensation that it still needed work. It has happened every time I’ve presented a “finished” work and it will undoubtedly happen many more times.
My publisher is gracious enough to ask for cover ideas. It’s their call, but they do accept input. I sent off some mock covers and concepts. But I wondered, Did I get it right? A graphic artist said to me one time that he believed a book cover should be a visual haiku of the story. Beautiful idea; tough to accomplish. Still, I sent off the ideas. We’ll see.
The production of a book takes several months for most publishers. No date for release has yet been set for this one. Meantime, there’s still work to be done. A final edited manuscript will be sent to me, and I’ll study it. I have two more blurbs that have not yet arrived. The interior design will be offered, and I’ll study that. The book cover design will be finalized, and I’ll fret over how it looks, hoping the designers have found the perfect visuals.
In many ways the book is now out of my hands. What happens next is up to the gods and that in and of itself makes this a glorious, tenuous, sometimes unsettling process. Still, here I am. Grateful. There is nothing I would rather be doing than creating words that I hope readers will find relevant to their world.
There’s a line in the wonderful book Devotion by Patti Smith, part of the Yale Press series of books entitled Why I Write, that says it better than anyone:
“Why do we write . . . because we cannot simply live.”
Photo: Tim Mossholder