I’ve just had an amazing week with my friend Holly. We bodysurfed until we were bruised, combed miles of blonde beaches, ate at rustic waterfront cafes, and spent hours chatting out on the lanai. I didn’t realize how much I needed this time of rejuvenation until after she had left. That’s when I felt the residue of peace lingering like a fine mist floating in the air, setting free my breath, and opening up my mind.
I feel recharged and excited, now being able to enjoy the multitude of steps waiting to be climbed. I see them before me like a stairway spiraling upward—pinpricking through the clouds. I laugh at the great climb ahead, knowing full well that I will get there—in time.
What to do? What to do? My desk and wall are cluttered with scribbled scraps, folders, and odd mementos purposefully collected to inspire me. I moved my desk into the master bedroom in order to make room for, Jesse & Jesse, my two dear friends who had been staying with us now for a while. They departed this morning, driving northward, intent on a new journey, thus creating a vacancy in my heart—and my spare bedroom; so, today I shall transfer my office back to the spacious quietness of the guest suite so that I can spread out and plan…
It’s a small transition, but transitions and changes tend to create a rhythm of their own, beating in time with the monotonous, building momentum. One can never tell which action is important until afterwards, for each holds within itself a fan of repercussions, creating an endless wave of activities slapping against the lives of many…perhaps all.
So, what to do?
I received my proofs for Cosette’s Tribe this week, which is proof that I actually wrote a book; so, now that I have this wonderful novel I can see that there is much more work to do in order to nurture and care for it properly. It’s not so different than having a baby. When you’re in the hospital surrounded by smiles, balloons and family, the duties of motherhood seem somewhat distant and romantic, but once you’re at home with your pint-sized soul mate, all wiggly and pink—and demanding—you find your tears flowing along with the colicky lullaby of your infant’s cries; this is when motherhood arrests you, and you find that your life has been changed forever. Such is the life of a writer turned author.
As I write this blog my book sits silently beside me, literary twins—a paperback, and hardcover. Inanimate objects that can only be brought to life by the imagination of a hungry reader, someone to invite Cosette in where she can freely whisper her guarded secrets and dizzying dreams, finding a sure friend and confidant to join her on her journey.
There is no turning back or changing my mind. I, like a parent, have created a life and now I am responsible for that life. The paper versions of my novel are complete and as close to perfect as we could get them. Now comes the challenge of formatting an e-book, which is proving to be enormously frustrating, what with the way the files like to misbehave. Right now we’re stuck, but I’m praying for the angels to send me a MOBI miracle.
My newest task is to promote Cosette’s Tribe. It makes me a little nervous—this marketing thing. Actually I feel fearful and brave all at the same time. I guess I’ll just have to dive in and get it done the same way I wrote the book and published it…feeling a bit inadequate. Everything is new. Everything is waiting. Everything must be done and inadequacies must be defied. I’ve come to the conclusion that fear can be a great motivator and that anything worth doing is usually accomplished while afraid.
