a rising tide raises all ships, and other aphoristic bs

on anxiety in publishing

I am approximately seven weeks out from the release of my new novel, which means about a week out from the email you’ll get detailing how you can preorder and why it matters, where I’ll be to hype the book, and all the other groveling that goes along with publicizing and commodifying and trying to justify my choice of career and make you like me and my work. It also means I am in a terrible headspace and probably not much fun to be around/talk to. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, whatever it may be. I’m watching everyone else perform their publishing excitement on social media. What I really am right now? An insecure and jealous mess.

Talking about professional jealousy/career envy is fairly taboo in publishing, especially at the stage of writing career I’ve reached. The world’s actual best literary agent with a powerhouse agency behind her! Three traditionally published novels with impactful advances and teams to help usher them into the world! So many wonderful writer friends who have kept me sane (but not sane enough not to write/publish this)! Shouldn’t it all be enough?

Since when is anything ever enough? I’m not sure you could even call what I’m experiencing jealousy, though like any other masochistic writer I’ve decided to pit my book against its fellow summer babies and watch closely to stress over developmental milestones. But if I got the things I’m telling myself I want for my book, I know there would be more things. You say, “I just want a starred review,” “I just want one reader to email saying the book resonated,” “I just want to be on a list,” “I just want to be Barack Obama’s favorite book of the decade and maybe he can also add it to the landing page of his website.” Point being, the bar rises. The tide rises, the ships rise. Publishing doesn’t get easier.

So here I am, publicizing my own anxiety and envy, clearly putting myself in a position to absorb even more stress. Why press send? One answer is obviously that I’m using this as free therapy. But another is that I’ve talked to so many people who feel the same. I’ve already made a name for myself saying the gross stuff out loud (albeit in fiction), so I’ll say it here for all of us: we all compare our books to other books, we all let goodreads and lists and marketing mess with our self worth, we all ride the rollercoaster. Everybody does it! Everybody feels it! Everybody gets through it and comes out relatively okay.

We’re not supposed to conflate narrator with character, but I’ll admit that any dark thing my terrible characters have ever wanted is, in some way, part of me. I am the OG unlikeable female character. The difference being, I am a human being who doesn’t blindly follow her impulses, who acknowledges consequence, whose feelings are mercurial and whose desires shift like the ridiculous April weather we’ve had in Chicago. Yesterday I bummed around the house making my family miserable by whining about my publishing anxiety; today the sun is shining. May you all rest assured that we’re together on this ride.

xoxo

LETTER OF RECOMMENDATION:

• Schmigadoon, season two.

• The Fortune Seller by Rachel Kapelke-Dale

• mochi ice cream

• Carly Rae Jepsen’s Emotion (my 6yo’s new obsession), specifically Making the Most of the Night

• putting down your phone