FLOATING

I started this blog saying that I would document what it’s like to be a debut author, and yet ever since my book’s debut on July 14, I haven’t blogged even once.

I think I’m probably still processing the experience. A dear friend recently asked: “Are you still floating from your debut week events?” The answer is yes, I am floating. Floating in this strange world of everyday reality — I still work my day job, cook family meals, fold laundry, worry about COVID — punctuated with moments of surreal “am I dreaming?” excitement (Maureen Corrigan’s review in the Washington Post is one notable example).

I’d been warned about post-debut depression: the letdown that you feel after your book has been released into the world. It’s a bit like post-partum depression, in more ways than one. Authors often refer to our works as our “book babies,” but while a fetus gestates for 9 months, books typically require years or even decades to come to fruition. Like a mother being overcome with waves of hormones, authors ride the highs and lows of adrenaline as we prep for and then decompress from interviews and launch events.

And then there’s the worrying. Oh yes, the worrying. But instead of Apgar scores and developmental milestones, there’s Amazon ratings and Goodreads reviews and best-of lists. Everyone tells you to ignore them, but no one really does. How can anyone resist?

This past week, I flew cross country to visit my parents and take a break from the debut author life. We celebrated my mother’s 85th birthday with filet mignon and lobster tails. I went swimming with my sister and niece at the outdoor community pool. I slept in and watched Hamilton (again) and had lunch with my older son. And I also drove to the cemetery to visit my brother’s grave and sobbed because he’s not here to share in this experience.

But, in my heart of hearts, I know he is.