The email notice I’ve been waiting for arrived this morning. It read “Books can now be ordered via the Print Corner tab in the Project section. Thanks!” That meant only one thing. My book is published!
I tell you there were times I thought I’d never write those four words and have them be speaking truth.
The journey from an idea to where I sit now at the end of the day my first book is published has been a circuitous voyage, full of fits and starts and triumphs and lag time. I’ve learned some things; about myself, about technology, about social media, but mostly about faith. The liar I was as a child pays off now as a storyteller. Computer programs are only difficult until you learn them. Social media doesn’t have to invade your privacy. And faith is mysterious. Because at the center of all the uncertainty that swirls through one’s mind, at the core of all the questioning that shakes one’s soul, in the depths of all the doubt that burdens one’s heart during a creative process, there is a quiet place that hangs onto a vision so loyally that nothing touches it. I say this like I knew it all along. But I only know this now. When I was throwing in the towel, not only on my book, but on myself as an artist, somehow my faith remained. It had to have. Otherwise I would not be where I am right now, having crossed the threshold from being a writer to being an author.
It’s been a whirlwind of communication since the moment I read that happy email: phone calls, voice messages, emails, fb and twitter posts and responses, all of them sweetly congratulatory.
In between I walked in my garden, thanking Mother Earth for all my good fortune. The neighbors' cat came to meet me. She stretched and purred as I scratched behind her ears, both of us getting our fill of kitty and human love in the afternoon sunshine. A very satisfying day all around.
The telephone called me inside. I have a standing date with my mother every Wednesday. I blurted my good news right away and she made me howl with laughter when, after expressing her happiness and pride, she said, “Who would of thought the little baby who used to sit in that cardboard box would end up publishing a book?”