Twelve days ago, I hit the “send” button on a newsletter that would transport my first book to 114 people scattered about this planet. In the ensuing 12 days, 40 others would join my fold and also see my first book born in their inbox — born bloody, naked, and afraid. So very afraid.
Within hardly an hour or two, I was already receiving tweets about it. It — my book. My first book. My soul. My 26-year collection of confessions.
My baby.
In the first 12 days of my first book’s life, I’ve received more tweets, Facebook messages, emails, texts, and phone calls than I could possibly count and, at times, keep up with.
In a word, releasing my first book has been overwhelming.
In two words? Joyously overwhelming.
In three words? Joyously weightily overwhelming.
Those first few days, I was initially relieved, then overjoyed. People were actually resonating with this book. Enjoying it. Calling it beautiful and poignant. People that weren’t my immediate family or closest circle of friends who didn’t have to go out of their way to tell me those things. Affirm the book.
Affirm me.
I’ve been blogging here for a year and a half, and the fulfillment I’ve received as a writer these last 12 days cannot be articulated in a mere blog post. The fulfillment I’ve received as a human — a broken inadequate horribly messed up human — even more unable to articulate.
What do you do when 150 people — many of them unknown “fans” — sign up for some guy’s innocent little newsletter, and many of them read his entire first book within 48 hours and tell him it’s beautiful? He’s beautiful?
Over the last 12 days, it’s been a tale of two stories.
The first 6 days, I was beyond Cloud Nine; I was on Cloud Nine Million. I was receiving messages from high school folks I’d not communicated with in over half a decade, and I was receiving messages from folks I’ve never even met. Precious people from all over, affirming me and my worth.
The next 6 days?
Awful.
Like, I’m not even exaggerating: these last 6 days have been awful.
I received so much abounding love and affirmation those first 6 days, and I didn’t want it to stop. I wanted to wake up every morning and have 5 Facebook messages and 5 emails and 5 missed text messages waiting for me. Wanted to have people praise me day in and day out.
It felt good. Felt so good to be praised so continuously like that.
But then the responses tapered off. The 5 Facebook messages turned to 3 emails turned to 0 missed texts. Was nobody reading my book anymore? What was taking everyone else so long to finish it? Did they just not like it? Did they not get it? Get me?
Did everyone else hate my first book?
I began to feel needy. So very needy. And beyond selfish.
Consider this post my “13th confession” — and counting.
In the author’s note of Struggle Central, I made it clear that the book’s first draft was all about ME. And then somewhere between the first word and the last, the book’s central focus changed. Changed from telling the world the broken/redeemed/ongoing story of Me to telling the world the broken/redeemed/ongoing story of Us.
Us. Strugglers. Each and every one of us.
This book was a book that used to be about Me, and then it became a book about Us — and then somewhere over the last 6 days, it became a book all about Me again.
Forget the 50 folks who have reached out to me and affirmed my existence. Forget them all. Because I needed more. More affirmation. More acceptance.
More love. Where’s the rest of it??
Last night I reached a breaking point:
What’s wrong with me?
I’ll admit, much of my recent anxiety of the last 6 days has stemmed from a never-ending waiting process while my first book transitions from free PDF to purchasable listing on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. I wish the book could just be ready and listed in a blink, but it can’t. Will take at least another pain-staking week or two before my book is born “for real.”
But that can’t be my only excuse. The only reason for my obsessive lust for love.
I was so overwhelmed with love those first 6 days, and last night beyond love’s borders, I rediscovered my brokenness. The very reason I wrote this book in the first place.
Maybe my first book will sell 150 copies, and maybe it’ll sell far less. Or maybe far more. Or maybe some average number in the middle.
I don’t know what this book will do from a Me standpoint. But I do know what it’s already done for an Us standpoint. I’ve read the messages. Read about the tears and the thankfulness for this story.
Thank you. Thank you, all.
Whether every last reader hates my first book from here on out, I’ve heard from so many precious people already, and I’ve been thoroughly reminded of my purpose on this planet.
Yes, I’m a writer; yes, I’m now an author. Yes, I’m redeemed.
But I’m also a struggler.
Yes…I still struggle.
I read your book nearly in one sitting. It was that good. I can’t wait to buy it on Amazon, not because I want to read it again but because it is worth the $10 to support you as a writer and as a fellow Christian struggling in this fallen world. I once had a dog I loved like you did Anne and when I read the part about Anne’s death it brought back all the tears and grief when I lost my dog.
Thanks so much, Jim. I really appreciate that. Both the $10 pledge and more importantly the emotional connection. Everyone loses someone at some point, and whether it’s a dog or a best friend or a mom or a dad, it’s not easy. And yet it’s pretty awesome to see what God can orchestrate in the midst of loss. There’s always a filling that comes after the emptying. God loves redeeming.
Once again, appreciate all the support! You’re awesome.