5/16/24

And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.

This past weekend, in the middle of chaos, I had the great fortune to be asked to attend a book club that was discussing my latest novel, Hope Always Rises. Two days before the book club, Michael was released from the hospital, and the night before the book club, he was back in the ER with uncontrollable vomiting. My contact person for the club emailed me and said the group would be perfectly understanding if I had to cancel. I’d been in the ER with Michael until from 4:30 in the afternoon until 11:00 at night. I had to finish reading manuscripts for a workshop I was teaching the next day. I was exhausted and I was stressed to the max.

But cancel going to the book club? Like hell.

I love book clubs. It was an odd sort of kismet, as earlier in the week, I’d read a post on the bulletin board for a national professional authors group that had many writers professing that they thought book clubs were a waste of time. “They get the books from the library,” they said. Or “They share the books, so you don’t get any sales.” “They don’t buy any other books,” they said.

I admit, I rolled my eyes. Because that’s not what it’s about.

When I present at different events, whether it’s a book club or a lecture or a reading, I’m often asked “when” I became a writer. Every now and then, I’m asked the “why”.

So. Why did I become a writer?

So I could be rich.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

One of the biggest false beliefs out there is that writers make a lot of money. Honestly, most writers don’t – especially off of our books. Have you noticed what websites like Amazon sell books for? When a book sells for 99 cents, and a good chunk of it goes to Amazon and a good chunk of it goes to the publisher, how much do you think is left for the author?

But truly, I never expected to make a lot of money. As a kid, I was an avid reader, and I always, always read the About The Author. It didn’t take long to figure out that most writers have other jobs. From that, I developed a realistic expectation early on that writing would likely never be the way I supported myself, even if I was a full-time writer. For that, you also have to consider my definition of full-time writer. When I am asked who I am, I answer, “I’m a writer.” When asked what I do, I answer, “I’m a writer.” I’ve produced 15 books in 14 years, plus many, many short pieces, including poetry.

But I am also a full-time instructor and a full-time business owner. Being a woman, being a wife, being a mother, being a grandmother, features in my roles too. It is very possible in a lifetime to be full-time lots of things. And full-time has nothing to do with money. It has to do with how you define yourself.

I’m a writer.

So why else did I become a writer?

So I could be famous.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Of course I wanted to be published. Of course I wanted to see my books on bookshelves, my name in magazines and anthologies and on book covers. But to be “famous” the way we think of famous, with flashing lights and not being able to go anywhere without being besieged for autographs and such?

No. I like things quiet.

However, I was recently told by a student that if you Google “most famous writers in Wisconsin”, I’m listed in the top ten. And I was very pleased by that. I can handle this kind of quiet fame.

So why did I become a writer?

Here’s the truth – plain and simple. To make a difference.

I was asked recently to be interviewed about being a writer for change. I prefer to think of being a writer to make a difference. Writing for change sounds like it always has to be something big – changing the world sort of stuff. Ending racism. Solving climate change. Making the world a wonderful, supportive place for every living being on it. But I think we change the world for the better with small steps.

I was told in high school that I would never write about “deer and flowers”. That’s pretty much been the case. I’ve also been told I’m a “dark” writer or I write on “disturbing” subjects. Maybe sometimes. Not always.

And here’s the thing. Even when I write about the “dark”, I always bring light in.

So back to this book club.

The book they were discussing was Hope Always Rises. This is the back-jacket description:

In Heaven, there is a gated community for those who end their lives by choice. This is a complete surprise to Hope, who ends her life one morning on the banks of the Fox River in Waukesha, Wisconsin.

Hope has always dealt with deep sadness. From childhood on, she visited therapists, doctors, alternative medicine practitioners, Reiki artists, etc., to no avail. In Heaven, God reassures her that he knows what caused the sadness, but he won’t reveal it yet.

All community residents are required to attend weekly group therapy. Hope’s first group is led by Virginia Woolf. Several of the book’s chapters tell the stories of other members of this group.

Filled with many moments of striking humor, uplifting realizations, and difficult challenges, Hope finds her way in Heaven. She meets many people like herself, who help her restore her forgotten artistic talent and passion, and God himself, who is amazingly human in the most inhuman of ways. Hope finds understanding and forgiveness, and most importantly, friends.”

So a book about suicide – not the ones left behind, but the people who look at suicide fully in the face. What they go through, why they do it.

Maybe “dark”. Maybe “disturbing”. But I created the character of Hope to bring the light in. To make a difference.

One of the hardest things about being a writer is that you don’t always get to know if you accomplished what you set out to do. I’ve had many wonderful moments with the readers of Hope Always Rises. And then there was this book club, which I came to after a horrible night.

We had an incredible, rousing discussion. I was already glowing by the end of it. Then, as the group was breaking up, one of the members sat next to me.

“Thank you for writing this book,” she said. Her eyes filled with tears. “I was Hope.”

Her eyes weren’t the only ones who filled. I. Made. A. Difference.

And by the way. I’ve been Hope too.

Do I make a ton of money as a writer? No. But I’m rich.

Am I famous? My readers know who I am.

And my Moment this week? I made a difference. With Hope.

And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.

The cover of Hope Always Rises.
All my books. Yes, I am a full-time writer.
Doing what I do.

 

 

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