Re-releasing a novel (and other beloveds)
Dark starry sky from 5.21 a.m. PST today.
The act of publishing a book. Then actually letting it go....
After the first death (or goodbye of whatever sorts), others accumulate. It's the nature of life, which is consoled by new shinies that distract or ease or heal said losses. Maybe that Splitting the Sky is a standalone, rare in my noveling wheelhouse, makes it harder for me to simply walk away. And yes, it's only been one friggin' day, but somehow yesterday felt.... Bereft. Perhaps the new administration added to that sense of WTF, well, of course it did. LOL not LOL, yet that wasn't the only reason I kept feeling like my heart was empty.
Well, not empty. Depleted. Askew. Changed. How you feel after one much loved passes. Or something similarly disturbing. Or altering. Or whatever. Whatever dude, what the eff ever.
Okay, this is definitely related to yesterday's hoo haa. Did I predict that sense of WTF-ever when I decided to release a book on Inauguration Day, obviously NOT. But it's done, the book is out, our country is.... Um, nope, can't go there this dang early in the morning. This morning I woke at a stupid-early hour, even though revisions aren't breathing down my neck. Only this nagging sense of, "What next?" Or "Why goodbye?" Why goodbye to those so decent, to whatever seemed impossible to ignore, like a novel that came outta left-freakin' field, taking over my whole damn life for several weeks, then is gone as if all that attention and love weren't real. I dunno man, I really don't know.
Yet (YET!), all is not lost, nor is this post meant to be a whine-fest. This entry acknowledges that no matter how much we yearn for something, or feel it is wholly and forever permanent, life moves on. Books are released, people die, administrations change, and though we feel battered and anguished, confused and frustrated, hopeless even, not all hope is lost. A trite homily? I don't think so, mostly from my faith, but also from the simple nature of life on this planet. Shite happens ALL THE FLIPPIN' TIME. Has Earth crumbled into dust in the midst of such turmoil? No. Have humans obliterated each other completely? No. Will I close up the noveling shop and retire from active authorial duty? Not on your sweet life! (Have I had some caffeine to prop me up having been awake for nearly three hours already, hell yes!) Hell yes I'll keep publishing books, maybe even write another along the way. The way to healing is this: Mourn what has been taken, then take a step forward. One step. Nothing impossible, although it might hurt like a scab ripped prematurely. But take that step. Then maybe another. Or pause, breathing deeply. Pain still persists, our lungs screaming for the past. Past Me wrote that novel twelve years ago when America's first black president was running for a second term. I assumed my nation had turned a page on our bigoted history. I was wrong. But (BUT!) I also didn't know the grandkids were coming. Or that my dad would only live long enough to meet one, Mom cuddling three of the four. Shit happens all the damn time, but then a dozen and a half years later, I released that book, which yes addresses corruption and the miseries that result, but also LOVE. Healing. Joy. Not the thrills expected, but something different. Unplanned yet not the complete end of the world. It might FEEL like the end. But it's not.
Future Me gives nothing away. Past Me is grinning from this unexpected triumph, not merely of Splitting the Sky, but that Present Me is writing about moving forward. From loss, from grief, from disbelief. From what seems to have no effing purpose, however it's a new day. Maybe a long day from how early I woke, but a different day nonetheless. So yeah, we lose some; loved ones, novels, a sense of democracy. Equally (although nothing about life feels at all equitable) we gain...something. I don't know what yet, but something.
Hold onto that hope, because as Dana Noth says, "Sometimes hope is all we have."
