Whether You Fall

Its really difficult to be an independent publisher these days. What's even harder though, is trying to be an independent publisher, a novelist, as well as finishing your doctorate in English. Add the terrifying prospect of being on the job market this fall to that. Then throw the added craziness of trying to have a relationship into the mix. Stir well. And then stand back as everything blows up in your face on a regular basis.

I'm worried all the time, even as I know I'm taking on far, far too much--that I'm not actually doing enough. Not enough for my authors, who are depending on me to get their books out there and help them shape their literary careers, not enough to my dissertation-- which suffers woefully most of the time under my inattentive eye, to my creative work, which is largely just a fond memory at this point, or to my relationship--the area of my life that suffers the most consistently from neglect. I don't want to disappoint anyone-- and because of that I'm terified that I'll end up disappointing EVERYONE.

Under the stress of trying to get distribution for our titles, traveling to do readings, constant emails and phone calls, under the stress of finishing a freelance novel-for-hire and starting on the seemingly endless edits my publishers require, its hard to keep everything in perspective and remember just why Willy and I started this press in the first place-- we wanted to make a difference. But in a publishing climate that's uncaring and dismissive at best, its becoming harder and harder to convince myself that we'll be able to make any kind of a change at all.

On top of this, I'm exhausted--so tired that I can barely hold a conversation at the end of the day. I write and talk all day long-- the last thing I want to do is have a heart-to-heart when I come home at night. Most of the time I feel shell-shocked, unable to really listen, or form words. I'm so tired I can't even really read for pleasure anymore-- it just feels like work to me. All I really want to do is watch mindless television, eat soup out of a can, and fall asleep with a glass of cognac in my hand. As you can probably tell, this isn't making me too popular with my boyfriend, who I don't think has an idea of exactly how wiped out I am. I've written 200 pages of this novel-for-hire in 3 weeks-- something that really took it out of me in ways I can't even really fathom. This makes me a lousy girlfriend, and an even worse friend. Don't even ask me when the last time I've been able to listen to my friend's problems was--I'd be too embarassed to tell you. I miss my old life, at times. I miss my boyfriend just being . . . my boyfriend. Now my boyfriend's my co-publisher, and there's no place for any romance in our lives. I was ready to just give up this morning. And then I turned on my Ipod, and Tracy Bonham's Whether You Fall came on randomly. As I sat there and listened, I began to feel a little better.

I have to keep reminding myself that its the SMALL strides that count, that really matter at the end of the day--not just the big moves. And every move is a step towards changing the landscape of publishing--each book I manage to put out there helps--even a little. And at the end of the day, maybe that's all we can hope for. And sometimes, just showing up every day--in relationships as well as publishing--is enough.

"Whether you fall, means nothing at all
Its whether you get up,
its whether you get up . . ."