If a book falls in a forest...
Yesterday was the pub date for my book, The Wedding Beat: A Novel. So it has now officially been released. But it's not like it's been previously held in captivity.
It's been available for pre-order, given away on blogs, reviewed -- and on B&N, you can already buy used copies in Kentucky. Still figuring that one out.
When a play opens, there are rehearsals, last minute-rewrites, torrid affairs with the leading actors (oh wait, I'm confusing real life with the television show "Smash," but still...)
There's also an actual opening, where people come and see your work. And even if you spend the entire time nervously pacing the lobby, you have evidence they were there, because there are umbrellas left behind in the theater and an empty bottle of Jack Daniels in the men's restroom (which you suspect was left by the director).
But a book opening is much more existential. My book signing and party in New York isn't until the 19th, and that was my choice. But even if I had done it yesterday, it would just be one store in one city, and, theoretically, my book made an appearance across the country yesterday. Well, more than theoretically. Friends sent pictures. The cover looks very nice on the bookstore shelves. Adds a bit of color, if I say so myself.
So I guess that proves that my book does in fact now exist in the world. But it's existed from the day I typed "The End." I remember that summer day vividly. It was a warm and sunny, and I took a long walk through the streets of New York with no particular destination. After a year of working six days a week for 12 to 15 hours a day at my computer, I felt like a caterpillar emerging from its cocoon, someone and something different from who I had been before. I felt exhilarated and fulfilled. And hopeful that one day the book would be published so that others could see what I had shed blood, sweat and tears for. Well, at least sweat and tears. And joy. Much joy.
It's been available for pre-order, given away on blogs, reviewed -- and on B&N, you can already buy used copies in Kentucky. Still figuring that one out.
When a play opens, there are rehearsals, last minute-rewrites, torrid affairs with the leading actors (oh wait, I'm confusing real life with the television show "Smash," but still...)
There's also an actual opening, where people come and see your work. And even if you spend the entire time nervously pacing the lobby, you have evidence they were there, because there are umbrellas left behind in the theater and an empty bottle of Jack Daniels in the men's restroom (which you suspect was left by the director).
But a book opening is much more existential. My book signing and party in New York isn't until the 19th, and that was my choice. But even if I had done it yesterday, it would just be one store in one city, and, theoretically, my book made an appearance across the country yesterday. Well, more than theoretically. Friends sent pictures. The cover looks very nice on the bookstore shelves. Adds a bit of color, if I say so myself.
So I guess that proves that my book does in fact now exist in the world. But it's existed from the day I typed "The End." I remember that summer day vividly. It was a warm and sunny, and I took a long walk through the streets of New York with no particular destination. After a year of working six days a week for 12 to 15 hours a day at my computer, I felt like a caterpillar emerging from its cocoon, someone and something different from who I had been before. I felt exhilarated and fulfilled. And hopeful that one day the book would be published so that others could see what I had shed blood, sweat and tears for. Well, at least sweat and tears. And joy. Much joy.
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