April 26, 2005

THE THRILL OF BEING HEARD

I thought that I was done jumping through hoops. I thought that getting published twice, after eleven years of rejections and unpublished manuscripts, made me a writer. I thought that money, although it certainly cannot buy happiness, could and would buy me the exposure I needed to make it. I thought that was all that was necessary to make my new book sell and my new foundation flourish. And I thought that even though I told my publicist that my expectations were reasonable, and modest, I thought I would belt it out like Ethel Merman on Broadway, and it would go gangbusters, all the way to the New York Times Best Seller List. I am excellent with fantasy!

It is as political as anything else in life, starting something, that is. My dual somethings are a career as a recognized author, and the creation of an endowment for an animal organization that dispenses funds to those otherwise unable to own a dog.

When I finally found a publicist who believed in my style and my cause, I assumed that bucking the blocks of a publish-on-demand publishing house that provided no marketing, and a foundation that no one except my attorney and accountant had heard of (and each of them knew of it only because they were drafting documents on its behalf) would be easy as pie. Turns out it is about as easy as me making a pie, which, if you had ever spent time watching me bake, would give you some idea of just how horribly difficult it is…

I have two divine websites, which I also paid for a talented professional to design, and I have done seven radio interviews to date, which seem to have gone splendidly. Indeed, I followed the directives of the coach I hired, who prepped me for a month, and every host has made me feel comfortable and confident in the delivery of my double message.

But so far, I have received one letter regarding donating, and another addressing the purchase of my books. I cried as I read each, and promptly replied to the two gracious people who were kind and interested enough to write. Then I printed them out for safekeeping, and immediately placed them in a file I refer to as the “magic stuff container”. I was high for three days after each one arrived, believing that they were the first two of thousands more to come. I went to sleep at night imagining piles of one dollar bills arriving at my post office box, each with an accompanying note about how much they, the donors, believed in what I was doing, and how much they, the purchasers, enjoyed reading my story.

I have financially invested more than I will allow myself to recall in this adventure I admiringly and affectionately, and alternatively think of as my calling, and my dream. Yet I am growing weary of the outlays, which, as of today, have produced no return. I wonder about the millions of other struggling undiscovered writers out there who, like me, truly think they are good, and know in their hearts, that they will someday be great. How do you make it without unlimited funds to keep plugging until the right person hears you on the right station and offers you the big chance to catapult yourself from obscurity to the next higher level of hoops that must be cleared?

There is no answer that springs to mind, still, I comfort myself in the notion that a few months ago, being on one radio station, let alone seven, would have been nirvana enough, without the bonus of anyone letting me know that they heard me. So I am humbled in this moment by what I have made happen so far, and although in a perfect world, Oprah would have called by now to schedule me for next week, and I would have had to call her back after finalizing my earlier commitment with Ellen DeGeneres’ booking staff, I am holding tight, and holding on, knowing more than ever before, that I will stick around until I get top billing!

Posted by sjbmt at 07:01 PM | Comments (0)