And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.
Having ambition in the arts is never an easy thing. Whether a person wants to be an artist, a musician, an actor, a dancer, or, you know, a writer, you’re heading into a profession that doesn’t have an obvious ladder, or obvious steps, or even an obvious path. Worse, those that hold the positions that can push you forward hold opinions and observations that are subjective…one person might think you’re the best thing ever, while the other doesn’t give you the time of day.
Makes you want to run right out and do these things, right?
Well, if you’re actually a writer, artist, musician, actor, dancer – yes, you still run right out and do it. But you also question yourself every step of the way.
Last week was the launch of my novel, Don’t Let Me Keep You. It’s my fifteenth book, eighth novel – numbers which mean a lot to me. Why? Because each subsequent book validates me, allows me to believe, at least for a little bit, before the next bout of self-doubt comes, that yes, I am actually the person I think I am.
I’ve always said about writers that they are the weirdest conundrum – a huge ego (I can write a book and everyone will love it!) combined with a crippling lack of self-confidence (why did I ever think I could do this? I can’t even write a grocery list!). And I am very much a part of that conundrum.
On top of what was probably the conundrum showing up naturally in me, given who I am and what I feel driven to do, there was the duality of my young life. I lived in a family that called me – outright – stupid. My mother even used the dreaded and now (thank God) forbidden R-word on me. Then I’d go to school and be told I was the exact opposite. Instead of the R-word, G-words were applied (genius, gifted). In one high school (I went to three), my teachers and counselor even made me take an IQ test three different times to show me the results, to convince me that I was not stupid. The excess praise probably didn’t help me much, but it didn’t hurt me either. It allowed me to start questioning things.
And it led me to throw aside all the expectations and rules thrown at me and follow what I most wanted to do in life. Which is why there are now 15 books and hundreds of individual publications in the short story, poetry, and essay.
And why there is still that constant questioning. “Is this the one that is going to make people realize that I’m really not any good at all?”
Yeesh. It’s a life.
One of my Moments of Happiness this week happened at the launch of Don’t Let Me Keep You. The room was packed; standing room only, despite my obsessive fears that not a single person would show up. After the presentation, I was signing books when a woman shyly approached my table. “I’ve read everything you’ve ever written, and getting a new book from you is like going on an adventure.”
An adventure! No one ever described my work that way. As I watched her leave the bookstore, hugging the book to her chest, I had no doubt that the book would be read from cover to cover that night. And maybe even read again. And again.
And, in that Moment, in that bookstore, at that very second, I had no doubt that the book would be loved.
For that second, anyway.
But even better was the night before the launch.
Historically, I have trouble choosing what to read at events like this. So, at two o’clock in the morning, seventeen hours away from the launch, I was in my office, poring over the book. What chapter? What section? What paragraphs? I knew I wanted to read a bit at the beginning of the evening, and then another bit at the end. As I paged forward and backwards, I decided I wanted the first reading to be the part in the book where my main character, Hildy, chooses what she wants to do with her life. Then, as I searched for the second reading, I thought about my final chapter, which is the only chapter in the book that includes the entire family on the page. I turned to it.
And then I gasped. I’d forgotten that the event grounding that chapter was Hildy’s silver wedding anniversary to her husband.
And the day before the launch was my silver wedding anniversary to Michael, which I wrote about last week.
Reading from that chapter would be a way to bring Michael to the launch. I am not Hildy, and Hank, her husband, is not Michael. But the blending of experiences would allow Michael into the room.
But while that was a Moment, it wasn’t THE Moment. That happened when I marked the pages, and then closed the book.
And I said out loud, to my dog, Ursula, and to my cats, Oliver and Cleocatra, “This is a damned good book. The best one yet.”
Oh, yeah.
And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.




What a great blog! Nailed it!❤️
Congratulations!!!
Thanks, Jean!