I Need You
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(Warning: This post is longer and whinier than usual. It is also more honest.)
Oh, where to begin. Not sure. But beginning somewhere, anywhere, here, is better than not beginning.
I’m having a hard time. And I’m not sure why. Actually, I know why: I published my first book fifteen days ago and somehow, someway, I feel quite lonely.
(Please continue reading a little longer before judging me to be the sourpuss entitled privileged piece of work that I most likely am.)
These past two weeks have been utterly sublime and surreal. The highs have been fairy tale divine. Seeing my book in stacks at bookstores, actual bookstores? Hearing from loved ones and lovely strangers who have read my book – my book – and loved it? Celebrating my dream-cum-reality on numerous festive occasions with friends and family? Carrying two copies of my book and a Sharpie in my bag at all times? These things are nothing short of incredible.
Then why? Why do I have this cryptic cloud following me? Why do I feel a surge of tears in the random cracks of good days? Why am I struggling so? I don’t know. But I have a hunch. My hunch is that I’ve been spending too much time pretending. Pretending (even to my nearest and dearest) that this time is a perfect and precise and princess-y paradise when in fact it’s not. It’s not.
Many months ago, I had lunch with a friend. A fellow novelist. We sat there, digging into our vast salads, and I asked her. “So what’s it like to be published?” And she looked at me. Put her fork down. And shook her head. “I don’t want to tell you,” she said. I implored her to spill it, to give me the real story. I insisted that I didn’t want the candy-coated version of things. And she gave me that okay you asked for it look and then said something like, “It’s a great, but also really hard and lonely time.”
Hard. Lonely.
Yes.
Happy. Lovely.
Indeed.
I think back to our lunch and realize that she was right. That this is both an exquisite time and an existentially tricky time. It’s really both. And about the loneliness? I feel it. In spades. And, on some level, on some profound level, I welcome it. Because writing? It’s a lush, but lonely affair. It always will be. And if publication entails a certain level of concomitant loneliness, I will take it each and every time. Because this? This nebulous and nefarious this? This is what I want. Grayness and all.
But for me, I think there is a bit more to this loneliness. I think this feeling I’m having – the one that I haven’t had the guts to confess until now – has something to do with blogging. Why? Because, over the past thirteen months, this blogging world has been my safe and serene place. I have come here to spill bits of my self, even the untidy and unpretty bits, and I have visited all of you. I have forged connections and friendships. I have felt surrounded and supported. But during this particular phase, I have had a lot less time. I have been unable to visit my favorite blog friends. I have lost touch. And, really, book or no book, this makes me sad.
And there’s more. On this blog, I have made a point of being honest. I do not reveal everything about myself, actually far from it, but what I do choose to reveal is real. But recently? I have felt compelled to fudge a bit. To focus on the ups and mask the downs. To put up an impeccable professional facade, whatever that is. To paint the picture that all is pure peaches in my world. And it isn’t. Because it never is.
Never.
And with the predictable loneliness, there are also the predictable letdowns. Yesterday afternoon, I called my publicist. A wonderful woman and now a good friend. And I asked her. “Have you heard from People?” For the past several weeks, we have been in communication with the magazine and have been cautiously optimistic about a review. But yesterday? My publicist told me they decided not to run a full review. She assured me that very very rarely do debuts get coverage in People and comparable periodicals. And I know she is right. But I was still sad. Deflated. I felt silly for having such high hopes. Because I did have them. I hoped (and still hope) that some big-time mag would feature my first book and then so many people who do not know me or read this blog would see it. And read a little bit about it. And maybe even pick it up. And maybe even love it.
Alas, the privileged problem of a literary rookie. How to get people to buy a book if they do not know about that book? Now, even as I write this, I am fully aware of how this might sound. How it does sound. I sit here, mid-dream, angsting over how to angle my book, my published first novel, for maximal exposure. Cry me a river, right? I know that this is not a tragedy. It’s not. It’s reality. My reality. And a pretty amazing reality. A very amazing reality.
But still. I sit here. A bundle of raw nerves. And I’m exhausted from forcing smiles where they don’t belong. Part of me wants to throw up my hands and say, Hey, this is my first book. This is the way it goes. Whatever happens is fine. Lower those insane expectations. It is tempting to do this because I am tired. Very.
But, just now, I decided I’m not going to do this. Not yet at least. No. Because of all of you, you, Life After Yes is getting a healthy bit of buzz in these parts and beyond. Because of you, you, my baby book is selling off shelves across this nation. Because of you, you, your eyes, your ears, your comments, I’m hanging in.
And so. This post is part apology and part confessional and part plea.
Apology: I am sorry that I haven’t been there for you, reading your words, holding your hand, when so many of you have been unrelenting in your support of me. I will be back. Doing this how I want to. And need to. And soon.
Confessional: As always, I am a bit of a modern mess. Same old Aidan. Translation: Publication did not transform me into a purely confident creature.
Plea: I know you have already purchased your copy of LAY and I do not expect you to break your bank to quell my insecurities and satisfy my unruly expectations, but please do what you can to continue to spread the word. Every single mention matters. Every single sale counts. And if you are so inclined, please consider writing a review on Amazon or Goodreads. I am a rookie in this glorious game, but apparently, all of these things mean a great deal. Particularly during this early time.
I might not have People this time around. But I do have people. Wonderful people.
I have you.
You.
___________________________________________
- Are you in any way offended that I am having a somewhat hard time when I am supposed to be awash in smiles and celebration?
- Have you ever experienced a phase in your life that was both lovely and lonely?
- Do you ever feel lonely when writing? Or doing whatever you do?
- How do you deal with loneliness when it manifests? Does talking about it – on a blog or elsewhere – help?
- Have there been times in your life when you felt compelled to smile sweetly?
- Do you agree that social media, used properly, can enrich and bolster our experiences in the real world?
I’m eagerly awaiting my copy of your book from Indigo-Chapters out here in Ottawa, Canada! Blog buzz is abound!
As for your question re a time that is lovely and lonely, a time when you felt you needed to smile sweetly? Of course! It’s called childbirth. You’ve just birthed your own kind of baby – your first novel. It’s bound to bring up tons of strong emotions. I think you’re just normal — and honest.
Aidan, so honest, thank you for sharing all of this with us. It makes it more real, and you more loved. Yes. Because this is real life, not a book. And that’s good. I worried in all of the build-up that maybe in the end it would be anti-climactic, kind of like after a wedding or the birth of a child. So much anticipation, and then so many changes and at the same time so little. It’s a lot to process. You’ve invested so much of your self, your hopes, your dreams in this. The only advice I can give is be patient, trust yourself and trust others. This really will ripen into a beautiful, wonderful thing. And know that you are never alone. We, your readers, are here, every step of the way. Cheering you on and holding your “virtueal” hand.
Oh my sweet(maybe too personal since I’m fairly new to your blog, but I’m going to be honest here, too, and that’s the term of endearment that rose to the occasion),
Oh yes. I know that feeling, the one where you SHOULD act and feel one way and your mouth is smiling, but your gut and soul didn’t get the memo and your eyes are sad.
Good for you for contemplating and reflecting. Bravo for having the courage to write about it here–so eloquently, so personally, like we were sharing a glass of wine and talking things over.
I adore your words. I haven’t yet purchased LAF but it’s SO on my list–so you have another sale to look forward to.
Sending warm thoughts.
I like your term of endearment
Reading your comment, I am struck with the awareness that this is just another instance of being plagued by the Shoulds. I feel like I “should” be feeling a certain way and when I don’t, I feel guilty about it. I cannot tell you how much better I feel (already) now that I have confessed to the fact that this period has been both amazing and difficult. This is life, I am realizing. It has little, if anything, to do with publishing a book. Even the most exquisite times in our lives have rough patches. And even the most devastating times have gems.
I hope you enjoy LAY when you finally get your hands on it!
Thank you for this.
Aidan,
i’m sorry the past weeks have been like this. The enormous delta between how things appear (or how people assume they should be) and how they actually are is a bit of a specialty of mine. I’m very familiar with the loneliness that results. I hope there are simpler days ahead, but also more gray ones – I think we both know there’s great richness in the complexity though dwelling there too long is exhausting.
xo
I agree with Julie. Publishing a book, complete with the characters you created and that you nourished and fleshed out over months and months of writing, is very similar to childbirth. And now you are in the throes of post-partum depression – dealing with the loss of that creative outlet and worried about how your child, now that it is out in the world, will grow and blossom. I’d say it is probably completely normal. And unless you decide to go for number two right away, you’ll probably miss that feeling for awhile – until your new reality settles in.
Love your honesty. I relate–not to the published author bit–but to the feeling lonely and down following a big accomplishment. You’ve worked so hard, and put so much of your heart and emotion and energy into this one thing–and when you “arrive”, it can be a bit of a let-down.
By the way, I’m reading your book now, and really enjoying it. Will happily spread the word, my dear. Hang in there!
Alas, the big, bad arrival fallacy. It’s rather interesting because I know from experience that these moments aren’t what we anticipate them to be in advance, but instead variations of our regular moments. But still. I am here and it feels rocky at times. Thankfully, it feels terrific at other times. I am glad to know that I am far from alone in feeling these existential letdowns in the wake of heralded milestones.
Thrilled to hear you are enjoying LAY. Be in touch when you flip that fabled final page!
Offended by your hard time?? Certainly not. I thought first of post-partum depression. Just yesterday I was talking with someone about how publishing a book is like giving birth, and what you speak of is very much a part of it. I can picture myself a year and a half from now in this same place. Like, “Ok! My book is here! The phone can start ringing off the hook and reviewers can come knocking and all my fans should line up to the left.” Wishful thinking, I know — we always know, and yet we do it anyway. And we should, so much of the fun of any huge accomplishment is in the anticipation and, as you say, we need to dream big. I think it’s normal for you to feel this way–it is indeed the ever-present arrival fallacy–and just know that because you’re having this momentary down time, when the next review comes in or fans asks you to sign her book, it will be all the sweeter.
Rachel – You will realize in a year and a half when your own publication dream becomes a reality how amazing it is that you have your blog, that you have this sweet swell of support. Because this world is lonely and I think there is no way around it. Before publishing, I had a coffee date with Gretchen Rubin and she said something to me that stuck. She said that there is an immense power in having a blog because once the book is born and out there, we still have our blog. We can process our experience and doubts and reactions there. I think having a blog makes this situation far richer. (Obviously, I have nothing to compare this to, but I feel strongly about this.)
Cannot wait to rally behind you when it is your turn!
This reminds me of the way I felt after coming home from my honeymoon. First you have the wedding, and all the build-up, and then it is amazing! But then it is over. Thank goodness for the honeymoon, for it is amazing! But then, it too is over. Back to real life. It should be perfect and glittering and hazy with romantic love, but it is just real life – good and bad and varied and more than anything, normal. It is a hard readjustment after any build up.
Soon you’ll realize that coming back down to earth isn’t so bad and the normalcy will feel good, I promise
.
Well thank god you are not perfect because I was beginning to think we couldn’t be friends!
As you wrote above, it is totally a case of the “Shoulds.” And recognizing that – and this post – will go a long way towards accepting the tangle of your reality right now. I don’t think this should be a peaches and creams time for you. I didn’t expect it for you either. More than once I’ve thought, I wonder how Aidan is holding up because I know if it were me, I’d be frantically checking sales numbers and calling my publicist non-stop and generally, freaking the eff out.
I have confidence that you will round the bend toward glee and turn back toward this feeling time and time again. It is life. It is publication, sure, but it is life. And you are learning to live this life in a new way, right?
If nothing else, you can be proud of your honesty. Of your words on the pages of a book that sits on shelves at Barnes and Noble. Of connections you have made and lives you have touched, because you took on that solitary endeavor one day and made it something great.
Pride in honesty. Isn’t this what blogging, good blogging, is all about? I think so, cyber-sis
It’s so real to feel this way. Because now the work begins….
I’m not there yet (published novelist, I mean…well, I am sort of, but it’s too complicated for a comment) but I am a published composer and I have a nonfiction book coming out this summer, and I know that once you summit the first hill, you see the next one–publicity–looming, and it seems much higher than the first. And it’s at least as critical, b/c if you don’t get it right, why would anyone publish your NEXT opus?
Totally justified. Take a deep breath and dig in.
For some reason, Barnes and Noble did not have your book when it made its debut. My mom had them order a couple and one had already sold off the shelf when she went to pick them up. She had them order again, so hopefully they got more this time. There is one other unknown person in Huntsville reading it though! I will read my copy after I finish up this minimester and I can’t wait!
I know that strange feeling in spite of achieving a professional milestone. In my line of work when I get a big conviction, it is at once immensely satisfying and also heartbreaking because by definition it means that a person will be incarcerated and people who have done nothing (their family) will suffer. It is an odd feeling, knowing you have done justice and brought misery at the same time while doing everything right.
!
I also think there is a little bit of the Groucho Marx prophecy (“I don’t care to belong to any club that will have me as a member”.) going on, at least with me. Once I do something, I wonder if it was all that hard or special to achieve in the first place if I did it. You know it is amazing that you are a published novelist, and you start to think anything is possible and when something doesn’t happen it is hard to reconcile. You will get through this as we all do and thank you for sharing your mixed feelings with us.
Finally as to People, I say you didn’t want that anyway, do you really want your readership to include people that feel compelled to write letters to the editor applauding Bethenny’s body after baby? They don’t deserve you
I have no sage advice, just a few words. If people like your blog they will come here regardless of whether you visit theirs or not.
And if they don’t like it then it won’t matter whether you visit. So for the time being if working on promoting your book means less blog reading, so be it.
No apology need, Aidan. This seems totally reasonable, to have a little post-publication sadness. To feel torn between seeming happy and revealing the lows. You’ve ventured into new territory, and I can only imagine how scary it can be.
Thank you. Thank you for sharing this so honestly and bravely with us. We love you, warts and all!
I think any BIG time of your life is both amazing and hard. I remember having my first baby. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted people to buy us more presents. I wanted EVERYONE i knew to stop what they were doing and come see us and our perfect bundle of joy. and when they didnt- I was sad. I was disappointed. I was a bit lonely, even with my wonderful husband by my side. I realized that thinking EVERYONE would come was a bit far fetched. Kind of like People at this stage of the game. Although it would be an amazing thing- its somewhat unfeasible.
So hang in there Wonderful Aiden. Your feelings are normal. And human. And REAL. Its an emotional time and no matter how many ups- there has to be dips to counteract them. But know this- there will always be more ups to follow!
I think you are right. Any big moment has its ups and downs, its compelling mix of joy and melancholy. I think realizing this is so important. I can totally relate to how you felt after having your first baby. After a little while, the novelty wears off for everyone else and it feels a bit lonely. Thank you so much for your sweet words.
It reminds me a little of how I felt after my wedding. So much anticipation, excitement and time with friends and family to celebrate. . . Well me. . Lol, once it was over I really missed the energy, time and bonding that goes into a special event. I think you are being too hard on yourself about not keeping up with other blogs or feeling bad about feeling lonely or sad. You are entitled to feel exactly as you do and I say just experience it. Please yourself before others!
Thinking of you. Could not agree more with the thoughts about it seeming similar to the post-partum….time (to me, there aren’t really words to adequately describe that maelstrom of emotions.) But I think being honest about it and realizing that letting yourself simply be really alive through all of it– the good, the bad, the empty, and the ugly– is the real victory. Some philosophies define happiness not as pleasure, but as fullness of experiencing the real deal that is life. It certainly doesn’t have to look a certain way. But because it is real, and true, and you are able to open your eyes to it– it has beauty in its own seemingly imperfect form. Hang in there; we are thinking of you! (And I’m also incredibly grateful to you for giving me perspective on what to expect for my own launch this Winter.)
Being alive through all of it, yes. That is indeed the challenge. Because this time is surreal. Truly surreal. And I am going through the motions some of the time. But thankfully there are moments where I am truly aware and alive and absorbed. These are wonderful moments. I said this to Rachel above (who will publish in over a year), but being here – in the odd ether of the blogosphere – finding a community of intelligent and interesting and caring souls – is so invaluable. Particularly during the publication process which can otherwise be a pretty lonely path. I can’t wait to celebrate your publication this coming winter!
I love your honesty and candor in sharing your fears with us during this exciting new time in your life. I came across your blog through a friend last week and have been hooked ever since. I was tickled to walk into BN over the weekend and see your book on the very front table, top row right in sight for all to see! I felt proud, knowing through your blog how hard you have worked for this accomplishment. Of course, I purchased it and have enjoyed meeting Quinn through your words. Good luck! I will help spread the word in Austin for you!
Valentina, welcome! I am indeed indebted to your friend for sending you here and to you for buying and reading my book. I must say that I am thrilled to hear LAY was displayed well at your store, but I am even more thrilled to have a new and thoughtful reader here and beyond. Thank you.
Fair warning – this is one of my stranger comments. Hopefully my analogy will make sense…
Any time a friend of mine is about to have a baby I do what most people never do. I warn her about the meltdown. I say:
Look, motherhood is wonderful. And you will feel happy and blessed when the baby comes. I don’t mean to cast a shadow on your excitement, but I want to tell you something that maybe no one else will tell you: You will have a meltdown. At some point – because he won’t eat, or sleep, or because you haven’t showered, or because you were tired and didn’t let the dog out, or because your yoga pants are on backwards – you will lose it. You will cry and you won’t be able to stop. You’ll feel helpless and alone and that you’re a failure.
Rest assured, you are none of those things. You are sleep deprived and adjusting. But you are not helpless, or alone, or a failure. You are completely entitled to your meltdown (or 2 or 3), and you will feel better afterward.
Now, this post was certainly not a meltdown. But it was honest and vulnerable and reminded me instantly of that other experience in which we feel pressured to say that everything is perfect, even when we feel unglued under the surface.
I guess what I’m trying to say here is: You are entitled to this. And it will pass. And you will feel better. But in the meantime, you owe no one an apology.
Gale, this might be one of your stranger comments, but it is also one of your best. Your voice, your humility, your perspective carries through here and I find your words to be compelling and comforting. Thank you.
(And thank you for alerting me to my little slip-up today!)
I can’t help but wonder if part of the emptiness you’re feeling has to do with not having your father here to share this time in your life with.
I know that even some of the biggest accomplishments of my life have felt a little less so because my parents aren’t here to enjoy them with me.
In any case, you’re more than entitled to feel however you feel. Pretending otherwise isn’t going to serve anyone.
Of course this comment made me a bit sad, but I think you might be right and I hadn’t thought about this. There is a bit of emptiness, of longing, and it might have something to do with that conspicuous hole in my family’s fabric. I don’t know for sure, but it is worth thinking about. I owe it to myself to think about these things.
Thank you.
Good grief, I think I may give up writing altogether…
*blink*
*swig*
Yeah right. You’ve done well hon, I’d recommend going out for a pint of strong dark ale and munching on pork crackling.
I’m loving the book and will (for a pint and some crackling) knock out a review soon. Sorry about the delay, not enough crackling is to blame.
This is a problem of any time that comes with an expectation (your own or society’s) of being perfectly happy. Perfect doesn’t exist; happy is relative. Most experiences combine a mixture of feelings, that’s normal and ok… and the little disappointments are what will keep you grounded when you hit the big time
Thanks for being open about the mix of emotions you’re feeling right now…makes sense! While I don’t have the budget to buy your book right now, I did request the library buy it and put it on my to-read list!
I see the postpartum analogies for sure, but I’m wondering if what you’re feeling is more akin to empty-nest syndrome. You’ve sent your beloveds (characters) out into what can be a cruel world – you should be happy because this was the ultimate goal, to watch them fly, but as all moms know, the true joy is found in the process, not so much the end result.
I love that your blog brings you comfort, and is a safe haven. Being honest rocks.
“Being honest rocks.” So so true. Thank you.
A classic case of “be careful what you wish for,” no? The path to success is often a lonely one. I think you might really enjoy reading Mary Pipher’s “Seeking Peace” that this juncture. She wrote the best-selling “Reviving Ophelia,” and was completely unprepared for the fallout of writing a best-selling book. She finds herself lonely, frayed, and disconnected, and “Reviving Ophelia” is her journey out of that place. I love Mary Pipher because she’s both a writer and a professional psychologist, and brings such an interesting perspective to her work. You might find some solace in her words right now.
Sorry — didn’t edit carefully enough. I meant to say that “Seeking Peace” is her journey out of the loneliness that followed the publication of “Reviving Ophelia.”
I think it’s really brave and endearing that you went there with this post. Because it’s you. All of it, the happy and the sad, and we expect that. No, we need that. To keep you human to those of us who look at you with awe and relish in your journey
I hope the grey skies lighten up a bit, even if they’ll be present now and then. They make for great writing material! Sending hugs your way!
Elation is always followed by deflation. Its just endorphin overload. Maybe its the literary equivalent of post partum depression or the adredrenalin rush of the roller coster of anticipation, but this too shall pass.
Your friends are always here for you, patiently reading and ready to make comments.
I have never thought about this relationship between elation and deflation. Very interesting and worth exploring. Thanks for your words and for your continued support.
I think there is so much anticipation in getting to a moment, that sometimes you don’t know what you will feel when you get there. What you are feeling is completely natural. It is courageous for you to acknowledge it here.
It will pass, most everything does. Hang in there.
Thank you for this honest post, Aidan. I love what Rachel and Gale had to say, drawing a possible parallel between the way you seem to be feeling now and the way that so many of us feel after childbirth. And that soupcon of guilt that you seem to be adding to your emotional stew? Yet another ingredient I connect to the early weeks after giving birth.
I know I speak for many of your fans when I say that it has been a pleasure to support you these weeks. You are an unerringly generous and supportive member of this community and I’ve been delighted to revel in LAY day with you. And, if the childbirth parallel is indeed an accurate one, I hope that you go to bed at night much like I do – forgetting about the low points and cleaving to the high ones.
xo
I am so delighted to have come across this post (via Heather of the EO). I got a book deal a while back and am working on my book, and am continually shocked by what an emotional roller coaster it is! I never would have expected that it would be this fun and fulfilling, lonely and hard. It’s good to be properly prepared that it doesn’t get any easier once the book is actually out.
Anyway, thanks for a great post. I just now discovered your blog and look forward to reading more!
Jennifer, I am thrilled that Heather sent you my way. Isn’t she the best? Congrats on your deal. Yes, this process (and so many processes in life, I imagine) is an emotional roller coaster. Knowing this and acknowledging this is somewhat helpful, but only to a point. Because while on that coaster, we are at its mercy and we can’t always control how we feel and react.
Please come back and often! Love encountering new readers
Oooh…I think Ash made a good point there.
But before I read her comment, I was just going to say that what you say makes perfect sense. How you’re feeling doesn’t surprise me, and I commend you for your honesty. It has only been two weeks, that is such a little blip. It’s like (ok, bad analogy coming…) pouring your heart out in a blog post and then wringing your hands when all you hear is crickets for the first 10 minutes. The buzz has started, and it’s good. And it will spread.
I remember reading Anne Lamott talk about the let-down after publication, the sads and the lonelies and even a bit of depression at times. I write for a living – not novels, by any stretch, but I feel the loneliness of writing and can imagine the conflicting emotions and turbulent ride following something as huge as a book debut.
Hang in there, girl. You wrote something fantastic. It is touching lives and resonating with strangers. As my dad would say, Chin up, Kiddo.
xo elizabeth
Thank you very much for this post. I’m relatively new to the blogging world, and part of the reason I’ve been inconsistent with my blog is that I have trouble gauging how much to be honest and how much to be “professional.” So I appreciate you sharing about that here.
As for the loneliness, hell yes, I relate to that! It reminds me very much of the feeling I have after an excellent performance (I’m an actress and singer, as well as an editor). Or also often after an audition, and most certainly after a show closes. I’ve poured my heart and soul into something and then sent it out into the world and then somehow there’s a feeling of emptiness or melancholy sometimes, even if – and perhaps even especially if – it goes well and I receive positive feedback. I’m thinking it may be something about difficulty receiving, and also on another level something about the nature of the creative process, and that there is a bit of a letdown after the process is complete.
And I don’t think it’s obnoxious at all for you to feel disappointed about People. There is no such thing as “arriving” and having everything be perfect. We always want something more. In fact, when Jes talked about that tonight at The Happier Hour, I was reminded of a class I had on Milton’s Paradise Lost in college (yay for our alma mater!), in which my TA’s interpretation of a section of that epic piece was that Milton was saying that the entire purpose of being human, and the beauty of it, in fact, is to desire, to constantly be evolving in our desires. We desire one thing, and then we get it, and then we want another thing. And I don’t think that has to be a bad thing, though of course sometimes it comes with some emotional rollercoasters.
I also relate to the high expectations and it helps me to be gentle with myself and congratulate myself even more for what I HAVE accomplished and the dreams that HAVE come true! And, as your friend Jes would probably recommend, celebrate, celebrate, celebrate!
It’s lovely to hear about the safe space you’ve found in the blogging world. Nice to know!
And it was wonderful to meet you tonight.
Evolution of desire, yes. Expectations that leave us empty, indeed. There is so much here in this rich comment that speaks to me. Welcome to this wonderful and wild world. Where words are compelling and clumsy and true. Where hearts and heads and hopes are displayed in profound pixels. Where we are allowed to dream and doubt and be who we are. I look forward to exploring your blog. And it was so glad to meet you last night. You and your sister are gems and I feel lucky to know you both. Even if it’s just a little bit of knowing at this point.
Not only am I not offended by your raw honesty, I am impressed by it. Being fake and pretend smiles is so much easier than being raw and vulnerable — especially right now.
This is why we read your blog. This is why we bought your book and were compelled by its story. This is why we feel so connected to you, as a person and as a storyteller.
Please feel free to be who you are. That’s the person we’re here for.
i’m new here. just found you over at she posts. loved your interview and thought i would stop by.
as i read this post i found myself nodding along. i am a wanna be writer and find myself held back because of fear. fear of the exact things you wrote about out.
i commend you for putting yourself out there. that took courage.
i didn’t feel offended in any way, but am drawn to those that speak the truth. happy and shiny or sad and dreary. the “fluffy” blog posts do not interest me.
thank you for sharing. i think it’s wonderful.
and am going to buy your book tomorrow! (that’s pay day!)
Mindy, I am thrilled you made your way here. I was so excited about the opportunity to appear on She Posts. It is a wonderful site. I am pleased to have encountered another soul who is interested in honesty whether it is rainbow or gray. And I am very thankful that you plan to pick up my book today. I hope you love it
How could we be offended by your honesty?
As much as I look forward to publishing a novel, I know what you’re saying is true.
Hang in there; this is such a transition time. I know I do terrible with transitions, but once you get through it I bet it’ll gt better.
We love you!
I’ve gone through the exact same thing. You anticipate for weeks, months, even years, and when the final day comes, it’s amazing. But then what? All of the build up and in a day, a week, a moment it’s over. But you still have all of the excitement and energy built up with no where to go.
Hang in there, it will get better. You will find a different outlet for your talents and energies. Life will get back to normal. And you will feel better.
Oh, and I’m been talking about your book on my blog. Reviewed it yesterday as part of Motherese’s book club. Stop over and take a look if you have a minute.
I am already feeling better. And amazed by how certain days can be conspicuous blemishes on the otherwise smooth skin of existence. I just read your lovely review of LIFE AFTER YES on your blog. Thank you. It means the world to know that my characters and my creation is touching others, and making them think deeply about life’s bigger questions. Thank you.
I’m alittle late to chime in on this one, but I feel compelled to anyway. I’m reminded of words I read here a few weeks ago, “You are not your mind.” Those words have helped me tremendously, and have nicely slain so many anxiety-induced moments. You’re an amazing woman, Aidan. And, although I have been too entrenched in childrearing these days to open my copy of LAY, I know it’s a winner.
I am going to echo Rebecca’s sentiment: “Well thank god you are not perfect because I was beginning to think we couldn’t be friends!” As I was reading the post I was actually thinking – Thank goodness there is someone out there who has insecure/pride deflating moments like me. You are brave to put this out there and that’s why we love you so!
I thought about the way you feel. I have to say that I thought the same thing that Claire did about your dad. How proud he would be if he was here to watch you. To share this moment with you. I know it’s difficult. Last week I was so proud and happy when my son received his White Coat after completing two years of Medical school. I also fought the tears in my eyes because my father which loved him so was not there to see this day. I think we have angels watching us but sometimes the pain is so raw that it’s hard to breathe.
After I admitted on my blog that I hard a hard time bonding with one of the twins because I was afraid he was going to die – I turtled up and hid from social media and everyone I knew who read my blog for a while.
So, take that and make it a published NOVEL? I get it, lollipop. I do. And I don’t think any less of you for being the awesomely neurotic drink of water than makes you YOU. Seriously.
Don’t forget to breathe.
aidan,
i’m a new reader so i admit i don’t know much about you, but from this post, i think i will like you so very much. you have voiced all my feelings about being a writer (a novelist, specifically). i have been working on a novel for almost two years, and i have the worst writer’s block. like, a year-old writer’s block that if it were a child, would be calling me mommy and biting my fingers while i fed it green beans right about now.
and this post has inspired me to write. so i’m going now. thanks for that.
oh and p.s. i went to prep school in manhattan, lived on the upper west side. no ivy league for me, though. didn’t even want to try.