I released my memoir in July of 2020, one year ago. Despite preparing for a nervous breakdown as the release date approached, I didn’t implode. Sure, the world at large seemed to collapse, but I managed to publish my personal story—held so close to my chest for nearly two decades—and I didn’t completely unravel.
Oh, I had moments. From the Lake House is my first book, so my only experience with publishing has occurred in the middle of pandemic/social unrest/fires, droughts, and floods/democracy on life support. Just being alive on planet Earth right now is exhausting and anxiety-provoking. Releasing a book is exhausting and anxiety-provoking. There were moments when reaching the end of the workday was cause for celebration.
My Work Life Transformed
The COVID lockdown instantly transformed my professional life as an academic coach at a large university. On that surreal Friday afternoon on March 13, 2020, my colleagues and I turned off the lights and closed the doors to our offices. “See you in a few weeks, I guess?” We would not return for 16 months. And thus began my pivot to work from home, eyes glued to my laptop with hours of daily Zoom. I coached more students than ever who were more overwhelmed and stressed out than ever. Sensitive, empathetic types like me readily absorb the emotions of others; let’s just say that I went on an excessive amount of mental health walks to counter said absorption.
Oy.
I’ve worked full-time for over 30 years. I’ve packed thousands of lunches while simultaneously gulping coffee and guzzling breakfast as I dash out of my house. For more than three decades, I’ve entered a professional building first thing in the morning and exited late afternoon. I’m not privy to the goings-on around town during the day. Perhaps people shop, go to the gym, visit the library? I have no clue, as for a staggering 1500 weeks or so, I’ve been held captive in a building each workweek for my entire adult life.
When COVID shut the world down, working from home was initially jarring. Should I still set the alarm? Can I really wear yoga pants? Dare I throw in a load of laundry midday? It didn’t take me long, however, to savor the newfound freedom working from home affords. I discovered that I could like my work while keeping myself in better balance: I could fix myself a nice lunch, chat with a neighbor on one of my mental health walks, squeeze in more yoga, and get more sleep. Divine! The transition back to campus has been . . . interesting.
Anywho.
Countdown to Pub Day
I started my new work-from-home lifestyle right in the thick of book release preparations, and almost exactly when the contract with my publicist began. By April, she and I had to completely revamp publicity plans when it became clear that the world would stay in lockdown mode well beyond my book’s release date. By day, I was immersed in my intense—and becoming more intense by the week—professional role at the university. Evenings, I immersed myself in From the Lake House. I wrote and submitted essays to online magazines, attempting to build my author’s platform (which, evidently, I should have been assembling much sooner. Such a Luddite). I submitted my book for reviews. I prepared for interviews. I signed on to a blog tour, which required more writing. I took social media lessons. For real! My publicist connected me with a social media guru to show me the ropes and usher me into the post-modern era.
#stilllearning
And in the moments between? I logged many miles walking my neighborhood and nearby trails, clearing my mind and relishing the break from my computer screen. I took hundreds of photos of flowers, trees, and my cats. I supported my mother as she managed her own COVID stress. I read the steady stream of hard news, and when I thought I would snap in half, I’d pick up a book or five and lose myself in someone else’s words.
For light, stress-free distraction, I binged each season of the Great British Bake Off (and then I started baking for fun. Ten pounds later . . . ). Anyone needing to rekindle their faith in humanity ought to watch this lovely show featuring ordinary people working their hearts out creating beautiful confections, hoping the judges will find them pleasing. Kind of reminds me of what we authors do: we write our hearts out, hoping readers will find our work pleasing.
A Pandemic Book Release
How did launching my book fit into the COVID lockdown? In many ways, it helped. No, I could not host any live book events, but friends from all over could attend my virtual party. My local bookstore was still closed to the public when From the Lake House was released, but they were gracious with me. I’ll never forget waiting outside the entrance on a scorching North Carolina afternoon—mask on face and pen in hand—for a dedicated employee to wheel copies of my books out to me where I signed each one. When I finished, she wheeled them back inside. Not exactly the book signing event I’d imagined, but hey, all those copies sold out.
Working from home allowed me to arrange podcast interviews without calendar acrobatics. It allowed me to call my publicist and publisher without closing my office door to block out noise from a lobby teeming with undergrads. Simply put, swapping the frenzied office environment for the solitude of my home gave me more chances to reflect: “Holy cow. I published my book!”
How did launching my book fit into this particularly wrenching time in history? Honestly, at times it was hard. For one, even if self-promotion came easily to me, which it doesn’t, publicizing my book amid so much collective trauma felt tricky. COVID deaths kept rising, RGB died, absurd lawsuits riddled the election, insurrectionists scaled the Capitol. It’s all so beyond comprehension.
Also, From the Lake House is about loss and grief, so I’ve always known it would attract a select audience. And, because my book focuses on the sort of grief that is particularly dreadful—infant loss—that audience is even more niche. All I could do was hope my ultra-select audience would have enough remaining emotional bandwidth to pick up my book despite the steady flow of existential crises.
Takeaways
With From the Lake House out for a year now, I’ve gained some insight. For one, the amount of work to publish a book is extraordinary. I plowed through a marathon of tasks to transform the germ of the idea for my memoir into an actual hard copy years later. I’d naively thought that the most challenging part of the process was writing the manuscript itself. Indeed, reworking and editing a manuscript can go on and on. The sheer number of folders and subfolders I created to track my progress in finishing my book attests to the reality that writing is truly a process.
Once I signed on with my publisher, She Writes Press, an entirely new set of assignments emerged: back and forth with the copy editor, proofreader, and cover designer, requesting endorsements for my book, submitting it for reviews. And then the check-ins with my publicist as we reimagined marketing my book in a world on edge. Indeed, it takes a mighty crew to get a book off one’s computer, cleaned up, beautifully packaged, and into the hands of readers.
Another realization about publishing as I mark my first year: marketing efforts are ongoing. Or they ought to be. Or they ought to be if an author wants to continue to sell books. Self-promotion was an abstraction back when I started the publication process. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Stay active on social media! Offer giveaways! Pitch yourself and your book here, there, and everywhere! Keep building your platform! With a year under my belt and with the advice and modeling of fellow authors everywhere, I understand that unless Oprah or Reese come knocking on my door, it’s up to me to continue the sales momentum. Me! An academic coach with a degree and a lifetime in education will also grow marketing skills! #stilllearning.
Final Thoughts
Here’s the best takeaway at the one-year mark. I’m a private person who published a personal story—by choice!—and as my book’s release date neared, I battled self-doubt: Will I be judged? Did I share too much? Is my writing good enough? Once my knees stopped wobbling, I discovered that my pre-publication angst had been worth it. What a thrill to connect with readers and to hear how my book touched them. I’d ultimately wanted From the Lake House to help others impacted by infant loss, and I’m genuinely honored that it is doing so.
It’s a privilege to know that sharing my story may have shifted a perspective or opened up a reader in new ways, just as countless books I’ve read throughout my life have done for me. The gratification I feel in adding my book to the ocean of others—and watching its ripple effect—has been an unexpected joy. That’s enough to inspire my ever-strengthening marketing muscle.
