Thanks

There were posters of The Given Self dotted around Barnes & Noble Thursday night

The other day my son came by to drop something off and then called me to ask where I was. I said, “I was right here – in my room.”

“Didn’t you hear the dog bark?” he asked.

“The dog,” I said, “barks a lot.”

Writing is a medium that lets you begin to ignore the dog barking.

Thursday, Donny drove me to a bookstore, dropped me off at the door, and went and parked the car. At the information desk, I said, “I’m here for a book signing.”

“Are you the author?”

I said, “Yes.”

Writing is a medium that lets you be an author and, if you’re really lucky, lets you feel like one once every ten years or so.

I felt like one Thursday night. Friends came out in frigid weather, the community relations manager had me all set up, offered pens and water, introduced me in a very fine way, and brought out extra chairs as people arrived. One daughter brought a vase of flowers that matched the book cover. The other brought Henry. My son, who was in the Navy the last time I had a launch, strolled in. A teenager told me I was awesome. There were pictures and hugs and tears.

Having my book launched did what I felt it would do. I told those in attendance, “A book is like a journey. When it’s done, you feel like you’ve been away a long time, and like you’re coming back from a far off land. Tonight, you have met me at the terminal.”

Thanks to everyone who was there, and to all of you who have shared this part of the journey with me.

An Elbow In the Ribs Can Get You Launched

I’ve fallen into a lull from which I know I need nudging, and not necessarily a gentle one – more like an elbow to the ribs nudging. I sent an email to a friend with “help” in the subject line hoping she’d assist me in getting focused on this book stuff. She called and gave me the kind of nudge that feels gentle at first – the kind that comes of a bunch of casual seeming questions like, “What’s your message?” – and “No, not the long version. What’s your book about in a sentence?” Things like that. I was lying on the couch while we talked but as soon as we hung up I felt that elbow in the ribs. Do you know how hard it is for a book writer to say anything in a sentence? I quickly wrote four pages trying to find my sentence. I came up with things like, “I wrote “The Given Self” because I need a life.”

I also made a document out of endorsements, a review, my bio, and some questions and answers. Then I made the call to the Barnes and Noble’s where I had my first book signing/launch event all those years (12) ago. After getting the recording that invited me to stay on if I wanted to speak to a book seller, I got a very nice young woman and asked if there was an event coordinator on staff. She said there was and gave me her direct dial number. This community relationships manager was thoughtful enough to leave her email on her message. And so, I’ve sent off my first “marketing package.”

I have a second-choice launch site in mind, which I won’t mention since second-choices always seem kind of…well…second best.

Talking to a friend yesterday and saying I was trying to arrange this thing she asked why I need one. I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t have an answer. I can’t even remember now what I said to her. But I know I need an event. It’s like a ritual. It’s a beginning and it’s an ending. It brings closure and it launches the next phase. Okay, it’s a way to get your family, friends, and potential readers in one place and sell books too, but I know it’s for inner reasons this time.

There wasn’t anything like a “launch” for my second book, “A Course of Love.” I didn’t really want one, had no energy to arrange one, and would have shown up only hesitantly if my California publisher New World Library had set one up. I was in the throws of that spiritual thinking that says you don’t do those “commercial” kinds of things for a spiritual book.

Afterwards…after the book came out so quietly that no one knew about it…then I had this feeling of loss…or something. It’s hard to describe or define the need you have for some acknowledgment of the great journey that a book is. Not having any fanfare is kind of liking coming home from a long trip and finding no one waiting at the terminal to welcome you. I can’t say why this is, but I’d just as soon avoid it this time.