No Big Deal

I hate this stage. This is where I have dotted every i and crossed every t, read through my book ad nauseum, checked page numbers, and am almost guaranteed to still have missed something. I can’t stand to look at my book for one more second, but I’m so afraid to let it go.

I no longer have any idea if it’s any good. During the process I have oscillated back and forth between thinking parts of it are fantastic; all of it is garbage; some of it is decent; it’s all a pile of horseshit…you get the idea. I am just so ready to be done with it. The only difference this time around is that I am recognizing all of these feelings and beginning to understand that it is all part of the process. Eww yuck, this is unpleasant at times. I almost don’t even care whether it’s good or bad anymore. But I can’t move on to my next project until I get this one out of my hair.

I am overthinking everything. The concept. The format. The genre. The content. The organizational structure. The chapter names. The poem titles. The book title. The cover design. The subtitle. The author description. The pricing. The marketing plan. Each poem’s purpose for being there. Each line’s purpose for being there. Each word’s purpose for being there. My purpose for being here. Oh god, oh god.

Knowing I would likely reach this delightful stage I intentionally broadcast on social media, and more casually to my tribe, the fact that I was close to releasing a new book. I needed to do this to hold myself accountable and force myself to follow through to the end and not just shove this project into a drawer overflowing with aborted and almost finished other projects.

The proof is in my hand. I am so close. If I throw in the towel right now, imagine how easily I’ll give myself permission to bail in the future. No, I must finish this. I must put it out there.

And here’s the funny thing. I’ve done this before. I know that nothing earth shattering happens to me or the world when I press “publish”. No one laughed or threw things at my head. No one told me to go back to a regular job and put away my pen and paper. In fact, reviews of my first book were consistently pleasant and encouraging and I actually ended up feeling mighty proud of myself. I think, for me, the first book was a tiny bit easier because I had convinced myself that the purpose of the first book was to learn the process of self-publishing. I took the focus off the project itself and based my personal success on just learning how. But now that I have muddled my way through twice, the expectation (my expectation) and success and failure is more about the project itself. The book. The poems. The gall I have to author two books, as if somehow the first one wasn’t a fluke. So maybe that’s why I’m having trouble now.

The only way I seem to be able to get past this block is to remove myself from the picture. To make this about others, not about me. To remind myself that making a difference to one person in the world, is to make a difference.

And I don’t really have to go far. Even if no one reads this book, by publishing it and putting it out into the world, I will have already made a difference to a whole handful of people. Aside from any form of wealth or glory or fame or recognition (hahahaha) from the book here’s what has already happened:

My kids have a real life example of the ability to pursue a dream at any age. Perhaps this will help them understand that their life and death decisions over undergraduate programme, or summer job, or first career job, possibly do not define them for all eternity. If my kids feel free enough and brave enough to pursue their passions because they have seen me pursue mine that is incredibly empowering in my books (pun kind of intended).

My husband might understand now why I’m not greeting him with a cocktail in hand and ushering him into an immaculate home with a gourmet meal on the table when he walks through the door. He might have a greater understanding of how I spend my time. When I removed myself from the working world I think he wasn’t quite sure how I could be content and how I could fill my days (he’s not a writer or reader, obviously). And I know the Me who greets him with a nod as I look up from my desk is a much happier more fulfilled Me than the one who would be putting away the vacuum cleaner and washing up the pots as he joins me at the end of his workday. Again, major major plus…happier wife and greater understanding between husband and wife. It also helps when I casually leave copies of my book (now, books) around the house and say stuff like “Oh, silly me, let me move that book…oops, I mean MY book…out of the way”.

My mum might feel like she has a daughter who is willing to take risks to try something new and a bit scary at a late stage in life, and this might make her proud.

My friends might be motivated to start a project, a hobby, take a course, or do that thing, whatever it is, that they keep putting off. Because they know that I am not all that different from them, so if I can, maybe they can too.

These all all amazing things that can happen if I publish my book…even if it is complete garbage and no one reads it.

I really need to stop thinking I’m so important and get out of my own way. The world is not holding its breath waiting for me to bless it with my latest piece of brilliance (or mediocre, pointless, poorly written drivel). Holy crap, get over yourself!

It’s not a big deal. I’m not a big deal.

Okay, that makes it easier.

Go check it out if you’re curious.