A book I spent over three years writing has left the warmth and safety of my Dropbox folders and…
There’s so many ways to finish that sentence.
“landed in the inboxes of a number of editors I respect tremendously.”
“now I am doing my best to remember that I have no control over what happens next.”
“EEEEEEEEAGRGAHHDJHJHDJHSDJHDKJSHJDK!!!!”
The truth is, it’s all those things and more. I’m lucky that I’m simultaneously working on developing a heady book with a new client because I simply don’t have the bandwidth to obsess too much about what’s happening with my own book.
But one can only escape so much in work or video games or walks in the woods.
The question “What will happen next?” always returns.
The other night before bed, I asked my boyfriend if he had any advice for me. He’s an electrician and an aspiring farmer and though he has little knowledge of my industry he does have a way of putting things that sets my mind at ease.
He told me to think about my book like the different stages of a tree.
He said my book is like a seed that’s been germinating for years, and now it’s time to put it in the ground and trust that if the seed is good, it will gets what it needs to grow—for me, that means an interested editor, publisher support, an engaged readership.
“It’s gonna take time,” he said. “Now you just have to be patient.”
He’s good with that kind of patience. When we first started dating, he sent me a photo of his plants.
“Mine always die,” I said. “How do you keep them alive?”
His answer surprised me.
“You ignore them,” he said.
“But what if the seed is bad?” I said. “What if no one wants the book?”
I hope that’s not the case, but I always need to prepare myself for the worst.
“Last year,” he said. “I left my avocado trees out in the frost and they didn’t make it. But this year, they’re back. I’m basically like at year one instead of at year two, you know…
“But they’re still there.”