The rollercoaster of launching a book

PLENTY makes its way into the world

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Last week was a big week for me! It was the week my second book baby was born. Plenty: A Memoir of Food and Family is available on Amazon First Reads as of August 1. So, although the official publication date is still September 1, Amazon Prime members get a sneak peek now. Which means at this very moment, somebody is probably (maybe?) reading my words. Which still feels a little bit surreal. 

Watching my book come out into the world is a truly wild process. I say watching because at some point there’s this big shift where the book goes from an intensely personal endeavor that is very much my thing and my thing alone, a labor entirely of love—on my laptop, in my head and heart—to this bigger project outside myself. That change starts when I share the proto book, a few pages or even thoughts, with its first readers, usually my writers’ group (shoutout to these amazing, patient, generous writers and readers), my mom, and my husband (they’re pretty wonderful, too.)

Then there’s even more of a tectonic shift, which to me still feels a little astonishing, when a book publishing professional, in this case my agent, thinks the book is not only a good idea but a marketable plan that a publisher may really be interested in buying. And then when a publisher actually does! And then when they pay me money for this labor of love. And then when the wheels start turning of this whole process they have so finely tuned, and suddenly the book has a cover, a lawyer making sure everything checks out, about a million rounds of edits, copyedits and proofreading (how is there still a typo? I’m sure more than one!), and finally, miraculously…readers!! 

Putting a book out into the world means my own reflections and stories and ideas are no longer mine. The book now belongs to its readers. Since I write memoir—since I write about some of my most personal, difficult experiences—there’s some extreme vulnerability going on here. I remind myself that the book is not me. It might contain pieces of my brain/heart/soul, but they are not the same thing. My brain/heart/soul doesn’t have a word count, or an ISBN.

I think of letting go with love. 

Oftentimes, this feels incredibly rewarding and cool. There is something deeply meaningful about getting a note from a friend or stranger that my words touched them, spoke to a tender place, or changed something for them. That something I made out of my experiences made them feel, shifted some part of their perspective.

I’m trying to take a moment, when I hear something like this, to really let it sink in. All humans have negativity bias, and I think I am especially prone to letting the negative feel a million times bigger than the good stuff, so I’m really making an effort to intentionally soak up the book related moments of joy. 

And yet. At other times, I am paralyzed with fear at the very prospect of this whole thing. Why do I write memoir again? Why this crazy need to share the most intimate things with the world? And why can’t I be passionate about say, accounting? 

Then there are the matter of the reviews on Goodreads and Amazon, and the Amazon sales ratings which bounce around every few hours. I try not to check these compulsively. I’ve even been advised not to look at all by other authors, but I lack the willpower to resist. So, I have moments like reading: 

“The ‘duck’ word is reason to delete that book immediately. Foul language is not necessary in good stories.”

This is from one Amazon reviewer, who gave Plenty one star. Nine people found this helpful. Umm…ok! This is mysterious to me as I think I am pretty minimalist about “foul language,” but people are endlessly perplexing.

But even more disappointing is the silence, nothing, lists of “memoirs about food” with my book (now books) nowhere to be seen or heard, which I know is just my ego feeling a ding, which I know is just the reality of publishing for 99% of writers.

Reading a book is a serious investment of time, and I feel genuinely grateful for anyone who wants to spend hours with me and my words.

I try to conjure 12-year-old Hannah, who would have exploded with happiness at the sight of my name on the cover a book.

I try to remember the immense privilege of getting to do what I love every day.

And then I go back to worrying because that’s what I do.

Gratitude, fear, gratitude, fear…

Today I’m feeling positive, excited, and even a little proud to share my new book with you.

You can order it here or request it from your local library! Know that my heart is doing a jump and a tug and a spin with every word that you read.