Would You Rather be in the Woods With a Bear, a Man, or Your Underfunded Kickstarter Campaign?
One year on Substack may have inflated my writerly self-esteem.
I’m on the phone with my mom on Mother’s Day. We have cancelled brunch because every sector of the family is stressed, and we see each other enough so that none of these prescribed holidays have to be an obligation. She says she’s been trying to get in touch with my grandma to no avail. We both determine that she is most likely lost in a book. Grandma’s reading habits have been the bane of my mother’s existence since she was born.
Last year around this time, I was staying at my aunt’s doing what I call “lady-sitting.” I hung by the pool reading a Brandon Sanderson fantasy novel while Grandma used her bluetooth headset to listen to audio.
After dinner that first day, Grandma described to me the plots of the seven books she was listening to.
When I showed Grandma at Christmas how to listen to the audio of my Substack, she was lit up all night coming in the kitchen every 20 minutes to tell me which of my stories she just heard. My auntie just rolled her eyes. I wonder if this drive I have to write a book is just a form of generational trauma that distilled enough once it reached me so that it became the ultimate attention grab.
Roughly seven months after I quit drinking, despite the therapy, “wellness” obsession, tap-dance, and endless support of my loved ones, I felt I was flailing. I considered going back to school to finish my bachelor’s degree in English since I’m still carrying that student loan debt, but instead hired a writing coach. Sarah led me to Substack, which I barely spent any time on before jumping in and publishing my first piece. Perhaps if I had poked around more, I might have hesitated. There was a quality of writing and prestige on the platform that is beyond what I could do (I felt like a real shlub back then). Anyone who has been following me for any amount of time can probably piece together why I would opt to jump in rather than wait or study. I have this idea that I’m running out of time.
This is among the many reasons why I have chosen to go the route of self-publishing.1 I have little interest in seeking the approval of the trad publishing world, the agents, the intelligentsia, or the English professors who would call this route, “vanity publishing.” (That’s a lie. I have a lot of interest in seeking the approval of everyone). I just want to write the book. I want it out there and more importantly in my grandma’s hands.
While reaching readers on an online platform designed specifically for writers and readers has been transformative and the boost that my self-esteem needed, I’m still pulled to write a book.
Why a book?
It feels so human. My bibliological clock is ticking. I have the computer, the room of my own, the time alone, and I’m checking my temperature to make sure the words are still flowing. What animal would do this? It can’t just be zeros and ones on a screen. It has to be a physical object like the hundreds I picked off the library shelves—from Ramona the Pest to This Naked Mind, to The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Books are church. Nevermind the bible. Kundera’s book cover was just a bowler hat and a woman’s bra and underwear. His words held me like a prayer. I finished it alone over Tom Kha soup, and wiped tears before they could fall in my salty bowl and asked myself, what the hell was that?
When I held that old book, and rubbed my fingers along the edges of the past, I wondered how the author knew me before I was born.
I never feel so much like a person as when I hold these objects. You don’t need electricity, wifi, or digital data to feel it. A book can read you by the light of the world as it burns.
I have a Kickstarter campaign to offset some of the costs that would usually be covered by a traditional publisher. The first draft of my memoir is with the developmental editor as I write this. The story is about my first year without alcohol. It details the way giving up drinking led me back to writing. It tells of breaking generational and lifelong patterns of people-pleasing and love addiction. If you enjoy what I do here, you will enjoy the book.
I want to be an indie author, but I don’t want my book to be slapdash. I am not using AI to design my cover. The woman I’ve hired makes beautiful art and I want artists to be paid just like I want to be a paid artist. There are some great rewards in the kickstarter campaign including, at the highest tier a digital drawing (by me) of you and your pet. A $10 backing gets you an ebook, and if you’ve ever thought about converting to a paid subscriber, $40 gets you a year subscription and a copy of the eBook.
For those who aren’t familiar with how a Kickstarter works, if the project doesn’t get fully funded, you don’t have to pay, and I die. I will literally die, at least that’s what my body tells me when I think about how I got five backers the first two days and then nothing. It feels like that feeling you get when you realize everyone hates you and thinks you’re dumb.
Everyone except David,
, , , and and someone called The Creative Fund by Backerkit. I have endless thank yous for your pledges!If you haven’t yet, Pop on over and watch the video I made starring Azula and myself. We only have until 5:23 pm on June 7.
A book can read you by the light of the world as it burns.
A hell of a line!!! Unbearable Lightness was my fave book growing up. Can't wait to read your book!
Yay! I was hoping you’d write a post about this so more people would see it and know how to support you. I love imagining your Grandma listening to your substack audios AND holding your book in her hands. Of course, I look forward to having it in my hands too!