“You’re late, Becky” (why I chose to postpone my publish date.)

Hey everyone! I’ve decided to start a blog—on the mental and the physical journey surrounding my upcoming book tour, my continued mental recovery, and the long and sometimes lonely road of an independently published author.

But first, if you don’t know me: Hi, I’m Becky. I am an independently published author from Milwaukee, WI, and a mental health advocate. I had not always been a mental health advocate, but following my high school sweetheart’s suicide and my own mental breakdown that followed this, it happened naturally. I learned just how important mental health is, above all else, and how important it is to share this story. I wrote a book on the year following my high school sweetheart’s death, and I’ve spent the past year touring it in cities of significance in the book and donating all proceeds to their respective National Alliance on Mental Illness chapters. I’ve just finished another book, a series of essays on how I’ve moved forward past this loss and subsequent mental breakdown.

I hope to continue capturing the story I’ve already started, and to bring you into my world, past what I’ve already laid out in my books. I hope to get to know you too in the process, if that’s okay with you and if you feel comfortable with it (no pressure though).

But first, this is to all of you who have been following my journey before this blog. I’m sure you’ve noticed my publish date has been delayed.

I said I would release my second book on July 28, 2019—exactly a year after I published my first book. I said this to, literally, everyone. I put the date online. I put the date in my trailer. Whenever anyone would ask, I would say this date confidently—putting my publish date before everything because I thought publishing exactly a year later would be “neat”.

“Exactly a year later,” I’d tell everyone, reveling in the romance I tied to this date with a glimmer in my eye that maybe could be mistaken for unbridled creativity, but in reality, it was simply getting caught up in an idea without truly thinking it through.

The book I came so close to publishing was good. I’m not saying it wasn’t good. I’m not saying I didn’t publish it because I think it was a terrible piece of garbage that nobody should ever read. That’s not it. If anything, I had a fantastic editor who made the most of what I gave her (Jessica Pearse—hire her. She’s a prose wizard.)

But what I’m saying is it definitely could have been better.

Definitely.

Let me explain.

Like my first book, I was emotionally attached to it after spending so much time with it. It was my thought baby—a representation of myself at this very specific point in time. I knew what I wanted to create in my head, but the process of fleshing it out, as with any creative project with no clear concrete final draft, takes time.

As anyone who’s ever created anything I’m sure can relate to, you start with the ideal in your head, and the creative process is scratching and clawing your way trying to fit this ideal. Sometimes, you get there, but only if you’re incredibly luckily, because often times (at least for me) it’s simply an idea of what you want it to be. A feeling. The ideal also often comes before the scratching and clawing, before you fully know what you want to do (at least for me).

But most of the time, it’s almost impossible to create the image you have in your head exactly. There will always be birthmarks, bumps, and blisters, which is what makes the final piece unique. However, it’s difficult to put this perfect ideal aside while it’s memory still fresh in your head, while looking at the seemingly blemished final piece. Even if it’s a millimeter off, that millimeter is glaring. The more time you spend with it, the more glaring this becomes.

I had a completely different idea of what my first book would be before I wrote it, and I missed the mark on it completely. I had planned on making it a graphic novel initially, relying heavily on images rather than prose. A goofy, warped, Hunter S Thompson-esque tale that, as I was writing it, began to feel inauthentic.

In this case, I’m glad I deviated from this because I was covering my message with these unnecessary flourishes. By stripping down my idea, I was able to make it more real, more authentic, and truer to what I was feeling at the time. I was able to focus on what really mattered—the mental and physical journey following my high school sweetheart’s suicide.

I’m happy I went with my gut, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t difficult to read as this idea was still fresh in my mind, when the “what could have been” thoughts still had wet paint. It wasn’t until I gave it space to breathe that I began to appreciate it for what it was.

The second book seemed similar to this, but this time, it wasn’t the form that seemed off. I always planned on making a series of essays on my mental recovery, both past and present. This time, the feeling was off. It didn’t feel right, but I assured myself, like the last book, it was simply because I was comparing it to this unattainable ideal in my head. I couldn’t pinpoint in my head what was off—it was simply a feeling, not a specific passage or essay.

Instead of reflecting on why it didn’t feel right, I simply told myself that this was exactly like the first book—that I just had to pull the bandaid off and publish it already. I had worked hard on it, and there were points I was really proud of. I blocked out the nagging thoughts of “I should probably spend more time fleshing this out” by saying “I said I’d publish on July 28, so that’s what I’m going to do, dammit. I can’t let people down”. I put my publish date before my artistic integrity.

It wasn’t until I gave my mom a copy of my book a week before it was set to be published, when she said “it’s you, it’s definitely you, but it’s also not you.” I pressed her for details, and by that I mean I sent her several texts reiterating basically “what do you mean?” “what’s wrong with it?” and “what what what why what where?” After giving me a minute to cool off, she said, after assuring me that it wasn’t terrible, that I “was too hard on [myself]”, that it was “distracting from [my] point”.

When any mom tells their child that something is “not [him/her]”, it cuts deeper because most moms who tell their children this know their children better than most of their children are comfortable with. However, this goes one step further with my mom, as she’s also read my first autobiography on the most visceral, gritty point in my life. I’d argue my mom knows me better than most moms know their children, for better or for worse, and I’m incredibly grateful that we still, somehow, despite all odds, have an awesome relationship.

But when she told me this, at first, I was pissed.

But mostly because, after she said this, I reread my book and she was right, dammit. She nailed it on the head. She figured out what was wrong with it in an afternoon, something I had been trying to do for the past six months.

I was hiding behind my flaws—when it got too rough emotionally as I was writing, I would defunct to self deprecation, much like how I tried to deviate to a Hunter S Thompson style in the very first drafts of my first book. While I’m sure someone possibly somewhere could have gained something from what it had been, I know I could do better once I saw what was wrong. I knew I could go further into these feelings and gather something positive from these rubbles.

It was then that I realized that the worst thing you can do is not to miss a deadline—the worst thing you can do is publish something that doesn’t feel right, simply because you want to meet a deadline. I spent most of my time focusing on the deadline, rather than what I was creating.

While there are certainly points that I’ve kept, for the most part, once I saw this, I was able to rewrite it in a week. Not because of any sort of deadline, but because I had a better idea of what I needed to do to make the piece I knew I could make. Once I took away the deadline, I felt free, and ironically, I fixed it up much quicker than I would have when I had a set deadline in place.

The point of being an author, especially an independent author who isn’t exactly even remotely close to making ends meet on her books alone, is to tell a true and authentic story that resonates with others. It is your duty is to tell your story, then to reflect on what it means in the grander scheme of things—outside of the world inside of your head. It’s to go that extra step—making your story relevant to those who are reading it, while still being honest to yourself.

It still kills me each time I review my old marketing materials, seeing how proudly I proclaimed that publish date, but I’m sure I’ll survive knowing that I created a piece that I truly believe is a better representation of me.

But would I take back postponing my publish date? Hell no. Absolutely not.

Now, I’m truly excited to show you all the fruits of this. I’m nervous—of course I’m still nervous because it’s equally as raw, as real, and as visceral as the first book. Now, it feels more natural to me, and more authentic to what I was trying to create.

I’ve just signed off on the final edits, and it’s currently in layout. I don’t have a set in stone publish date yet, but to be safe, let’s say beginning of September. I’ll let you know when that happens.

But the most important thing I’ve learned? Sometimes, going against what you originally said is a good thing. As you create, these small details should be fluid, not the focus. The best thing you can do is create something you are proud of, something that feels right, and something that you are 100% behind. I think, now that I bit the bullet and went against my hard set deadline, I’ve accomplished that. I hope you feel the same once you read it, and I look forward to hearing what you think.

---

As an added bonus, because music is a huge part in my mental health journey, I will also be listening to a new album as I write, and doing a quick yey or ney after each blog entry is complete.

(If you have any suggestions, I’m all ears! Feel free to list in the comments below, and I’ll be sure to get around to them.)

This time though? I’m listening to an album I’m already familiar with, because I’ve had it stuck in my head all morning and I honestly couldn’t listen to anything else before I listened to this again. If I tried to listen to anything else, I’m sure this album would be nagging at me in the back of my head, which would hurt the review of even the best of albums.

Already, I’m cutting myself some slack, but I swear it will be a new one next time.

The album? Orion, by King Buffalo.

The guitar? Yey. The drums? Yey. The bass? Yey. Voice? Wow. Big yey. Overall, yes. Listen to this album. Or, better yet, purchase this album, because their album art is also one big yey.

They will be in Chicago on Sept 27th, and I have a signing in Chicago on the 28th, because I’m a child in control of my adult tour schedule, and I tend to plan it around concerts I want to see in venues I’ve been meaning to check out. Gotta be productive with your time, right?

Well, that’s it for me today. If you have any thoughts on anything I’ve written, or simply want to say hello, leave a comment below, why doncha? I’d love to hear from you.

Cheers,

Becky