Grieving, part of the writing process
This will be a very personal post. When we write, even fiction, we are revealing a little part of ourselves. Indeed, this may be why I write: to crack open the soul.
So then . . . after I've done my part, written and cracked, ached and revised, what next?
I'm not a hobbyist, so I put it out there--for the world to read. Or at least I hope so.
I send out my flashes and short stories and essays and generally after a lot of coming and going and wrestling, they are published. The novels take much, much longer. If I can't get an agent for the work then I try for smaller presses which are still reading manuscripts. Sometimes I go the self-publish route. Either way eventually these also get published.
After all this then I help market and publicize the work. I begin to intentionally engage with readers. And, this is where I have hit the wall.
I can't make people read my book, just like you can lead a horse to water but can't make them drink. I asked friends to read the novel either in digital form or buy (on Amazon these are VERIFIED) and write reviews. I've asked friends to request my book at the library. There are so many small things we can do for our author friends that have very real meaning.
Just like how a farmer plans during the winter, plants in the still cold spring, sometimes into hard ground, the fruit eventually comes and you hope to share it with others. That they will EAT what you've worked hard to grow.
My grieving process has been this: That people I thought would read my work simply have not.
I've had to work through this disappointment. Partly I blame myself for having such expectations--but they only made sense! Folks have been interested in me as a person and a writer. They have sometimes asked how it's going--so I assumed that when Cloud of Witnesses came out that they would blurb, review, or just read it. Give me a thumbs up.
Not to say I haven't had people write to me personally and tell me that they enjoyed the book. They have. One woman wrote to me and we met for coffee recently. I can't tell you what an impact it had on my psyche when she said your book made my day (in so many words). This was really like honey to me.
Which made me realize how many times I'd read a book that changed me or made me realize what a small world or big life is out there. That there is always more and at the same time we are all the same. Where I feel "one" with the author or the story resonates with me. Every now and then a book becomes a signpost in my life, a place to mark where I stand and that I can go back to to revisit that moment in my life. And, I never once wrote the author.
So I'm guilty also.
Nevertheless, the reality of this, the let down after publication is something I've been grappling with. I've had to grieve what I thought might happen and reconcile that with what actually happened. That it bloomed, came to fruition and some people ate and some did not.
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