I’ve been thinking a lot lately. Thinking more than writing. Thinking more than talking. Thinking more than doing. You know what I got for all my effort?
It paralyzed me.
Who am I to think my voice might matter?
What can I say that might help?
What if someone actually listens and I get slammed by the trolls?
Or, worse, slammed by those I seek to support?
When I wrote, I over-wrote.
When I talked, I stuttered.
Then, late last week, I told a customer about my fear. Tongue tripping and sweat dripping, I explained my new book and how I wanted to navigate the narrow passage between opposing walls of Internet vitriol, how I wanted to build a bridge between them – a safe passage, a resting place for bruised hearts, a new dialog.
She patted my hand. She can do that. She’s got twenty plus years on me and isn’t afraid to let me know it.
“Destiny,” she said. “Don’t waste your time in between the walls. Go over them.”
Soooo, I turned down a traditional publisher who wanted me to make changes to make the marketing easier (i.e. compress the book into a traditional category), contacted my editor and cover designer, and reached out to a couple of publicists.
I’m going over the wall.
The Romance Diet is a feminist book with a male hero. It is a diet book without any recipes or exercise tips. It is a love story. The villain disappeared twenty-eight years ago, the heroine falls apart.
The first rung of the ladder feels pretty easy. What do you think? Are you climbing, too?