Books are so embarrassing

Why do we do this

Ori published a book! Thank you to all who preordered. I am working on making ceramic things and getting them out the door for preorder folks, but if you sent me your order confirmation but no address, I probably need one from you! Just email me again with your address.

I wanted to talk about how embarrassing it is to publish a book. Yeah, you heard that right. Is it exciting? Sure. Is it great to have people read your work? Absolutely. But is it also super cringe, as the kids once said? 100%.

Let me explain. I’ve talked a little about this before, that I have a friend who said publishing his first book was like a close friend dying. For me, it’s not exactly that. And I didn’t even publish a book this time. I just hung out with Ori while he published his book. He is super happy with the reception and sales of this book of poems, by the way. It is a very good book and has gotten some great press. He is currently shaping two more new manuscripts of lineated poems, both with many published pieces in good places (hello, Ploughshares). So he’s already working on the next book, and the one that will follow. Which is great. Probably this is what everyone who has concluded a major creative project should do afterwards—work on the next thing. But the work of making a book and selling a book and marketing a book—those are all different skills. And some of us like the marketing stuff a lot, or at least can tolerate it better, and some of us would like to just drop books into the ether.

On the internet, I joked that for my next book, I don’t want to have a reading, or book launch, or in-conversation. I just want to hang out in an empty gallery and teach everyone how to wire a three way switch. Then I will sign books. This was Ori’s idea, by the way. He is good like this. It feels perfect: I can impart some real life skills and avoid having to actually talk about my book. There is a significant home improvement component to the book anyway, so maybe it is all thematic. We’ve discussed variations on this idea: that maybe I should do a ceramics-themed book launch, where I just make pots and teach others to make pots, that I bring my wheel somewhere and do a throwing demo, or whatever. On that note, I am working on establishing a studio in Evanston, where I will be teaching ceramics. More on this soon. Very excited to do this. If you’re local and interested in learning to throw pots (there will be a few options made available), let me know. I am also going to be teaching writing a little too (this stuff will be virtual), with more about that in the next newsletter too.

But yes. Publishing a book is in some ways terrible. You have to let the work go somewhere else, out, in the world. Maybe if you are an extravert this is fine. You can have fun and talk to people. I know a bunch of folks who are very good at this. It’s a kind of public literary citizenship: you show up for other people’s readings and book launches and book events of all kinds. You write blurbs and do in-conversations with folks whose books are coming out. Probably you teach occasionally too. You maintain an active social media presence where you never forget a launch day. You are not chronically ill. These people are rock stars. I am not like this. Or sometimes I’m like this, but not generally. I’m working on being better.

I want to go to things, but I am a morning person, which means that by the time 7 or 8 rolls around, I am in pyjamas. Or I am dealing with my own medical stuff lately. It’s okay. Sometimes I stay up late and go out, and sometimes not. I try to do what I can, while also writing a new book, feral, in book mode.

If you’ve had a book launch, or maybe an art show, or something else entirely (would love to hear what this means in your life)—what do you do to try to stay connected to the world, while still maintaining a connection to the work?