A Week of Dentists, Downtime and Summertime Rain: The Ups (and Downs) of New Books

The Ups (and Downs) of New Books

Not feeling super for this update, had dental work earlier this week and got pretty sick for the whole week. This happens a lot to me after dental work. Part of the whole “crappy immune system” that is part of my life.

Goldfinches in flight

But that’s not what I want to talk about on the blog this week. Someone on Twitter this week talked about how depressed she felt after her first book came out. I tweeted back something like: “That’s normal, you’ve got it all built up in your head so there’s inevitably let-down, book launches (now more than ever before) take so much effort on the part of the author—social media, readings, constant promotion. It is tiring.” And those things are the truth. Flare, Corona is my sixth book of poetry, and my eighth book altogether—but you never really get used to it. It never gets easier. Even if you have a great press, even if you’re totally healthy, even if you’re not coming into year three of a pandemic.

See the goldfinches in that picture. One of them is about to get off his perch—the other is mid-flight. You get the sense these birds are putting in a lot of effort. If you’re mid-flight, you’re thinking about your destination—if you’re just launching, you’re thinking about how you’re going to make it. It’s sort of like that with books.  There’s the book launch—maybe a party with friends or with your publisher—a few readings, a few reviews, maybe even good ones. Maybe you sell a fair number of books. Then the excitement fades, and guess what? You’ve launched, but you’ve still got work in front of you. My first poetry book still has readers, believe it or not—and it was published in 2006, the publisher changed hands, and I don’t even know if you can buy it through regular channels anymore. The point is, after the three months of book launch activities have faded, the book goes on. Sometimes you get tired. Sometimes—and this is completely normal—you feel discouraged that the book didn’t do as well as you’d hoped.

Pink Peony garden

I’ll tell you a funny story about a non-poetry book. I wrote a technical book about web services once. I knew the press expected to sell 60,000 copies, and it sold more like 10,000. That would be a huge number for a poetry book, but a disappointing one for this particular kind of technical book. Because I was writing about technology that didn’t even fully exist yet, reviews were sort of dismal. But the key for me was that the expectations were higher than the actual performance. That always hurts. You always think: what could I have done better? Every book, I’ve learned something. Book promotion has really changed since my first book. The pandemic has maybe changed the face of book promotion forever. This time around, I learned about Instagram and video editing—there’s probably more I need to learn, too.

Striped rose

Summertime Rain and Restoration

It rained this week after a long (for Seattle, anyway) dry spell. My garden appreciated it, and also, it takes a little bit off the frenetic pressure (in Seattle, anyway) to be out having a “great time outdoors” during the summer, after the long gloom of wintertime (and it was longer than usual this year, too). The flowers appreciate the wet April and the dry, hot May—things bloomed early, then died off, and the second wave of summer flowers has begun in my garden and all around. I got out a little in my garden, fertilizing and pruning and checking on the health of all my little plant babies (my particular baby is my little Pink Lady apple tree which nearly died of mold last summer, after a very wet spring).

Red zinnia

The rain is a break, as I said, from the feeling that we should be out having a “good time” as long as the sunshine. Now, if you follow this blog, you may know I have something called “solar urticaria”—which means I’m allergic to the sun. My body actually does better under a protective cloud barrier. MS means the heat makes symptoms worse, too—so for most people, this is “max fun” season, whereas for me, summer is usually my time to stay in and not try to do too much. It’s a good writing season for me, as long as (ahem) I’m not sick. And downtime can be important. It can be restorative. When I study a lot of writers’ lives, I notice a lot of them had lots of downtime—whether because they were frequently ill, or they had a disability, or they were Emily Dickinson. The rain is good for the garden, restorative. It’s important for us as writers, especially during something stressful like a new book launch, to think about what restores us as artists. For me, the time to read (I’m reading five books at a time this week!) and spend time with other artists, and to be out noticing things – like, art galleries and gardens—are important parts of restoring my creative self. You have to decide what the things are for you. What’s your rain?