When Sales Don’t Matter—Much

Jumping the publishing shark from contemporary romance to a book of essays wasn’t anything I’d ever thought of doing. At least, not seriously. I’ve written the column, “Window Over the Sink,” sporadically since 1990. The columns aren’t particularly neat—they’re crooked, jagged pieces of my heart. I write about my life, my family, my friends, and how those pieces fit together. 

But to collect them into a book?

I told my husband I would do it, years ago, just for him and the kids, but twenty-some years of writing published novels has made my ego a little harder to contain than that. I wanted it to be a Real Book, with a great cover and editing. 

I put it off for years, agonizing over which columns to use, what order to put them in, and how much updating I should do. What should be the theme of the book? Should I focus on humor, family angst, or righteous anger? All of those have homes in my column, but it doesn’t fit any of those niches—remember jagged? I needed to get my ducks in a row. 

I was writing a post for Word Wranglers when it finally occurred to me that the ducks don’t matter. Subsequently, what I’d put off for years took less than a week to assemble. I started with a New Year’s column and finished with two Christmas ones, and the sixty or so that came in between fell as they would. Crookedly. Jaggedly. I used favorites of my own, ones that had drawn the most response from readers, and others that seemed to slide into place.

Perhaps because I wanted to feel a little less lonely in the endeavor, I found the first editor who’d hired me to write for the local newspaper and asked him if he’d like to write a foreword. Happily for me, he agreed. 

I thought long and hard about a title for the book. I’d used “Window Over the Sink” virtually everywhere already, so I should name it something different, right? Something catchy that hadn’t been used before. Peg Bracken’s A Window Over the Sink still came up on Google embarrassingly more often than anything I’d written.

And yet, when I typed the title of the book for the first time, Window Over the Sink came out of the keys. I am a big fan of reinventing oneself when circumstances call for it, but apparently this wasn’t one of those times. 

Although I’m vaguely hybrid in in romantic fiction, having several novellas as parts of indie-published anthologies, traditional publishing is still my first choice. I had no idea how to go about submitting my memoir to publishers; for that matter, I wasn’t sure—I’m still not— memoir is the right term. I decided I wouldn’t even look for a publisher. That heart had been broken often enough already. I would indie-publish it. 

Since I knew very little nothing about self-publishing, I sought and received help from people who did. Having a best writer friend who’s a copy editor was a good start. “Lightly,” I told Nan Reinhardt. “I need it to sound like me.” I couldn’t see her, but I’m certain she rolled her eyes. She didn’t become an excellent copy editor by robbing writers of their voices. 

Author Maddie James designed a beautiful novella cover for me, so I asked her to do a cover. I filled out the art facts sheet she sent, knowing what I wanted but unable to describe it. There were many pictures of windows and sinks available, but they weren’t exactly right. They were too sophisticated. No clothesline. More urban than rural. 

The sign of a good cover artist is that even when you say intelligent, productive things like “…the white space below the shelf is too…white…” she will get it and run with it and the cover will look exactly as you would have envisioned it if you had any vision.

This was getting exciting. 

Maddie did the formatting, too, and led me painstakingly through the process of publishing. Less than a week in, while I was still checking my sales every day and feeling euphoric, my sister-in-law said she loved the book and she thought I must have really liked a particular essay since I used it twice. 

Yes, I had, under two separate titles. I emailed Maddie in a panic, she emailed back, I sent her corrections, and she made them. 

What a cool thing that was. 

A few months after publishing Window Over the Sink, I have learned lessons—and relearned a few. 

I’ve relearned that December isn’t the best time to release, even though you’ll sell some Christmas presents. People have other things on their minds than buying a book of essays. 

I’ve relearned that the importance of good editors and good cover designers can’t be overstated. 

I’ve learned that sometimes ego is okay. It made Window a better book. Just like they won’t tell you your hair color’s awful, people who love you likely won’t tell you your book sucks, either. My sister-in-law was afraid she’d hurt my feelings by telling me about the mistake I’d made, but I am grateful.

I’ve learned that, ego aside, sometimes the sales don’t matter. My husband doesn’t care if I ever make back the financial investment I’ve made—it was an act of love. At the end of the day, I’m glad the book is something my kids and grands will have when I’m not around anymore. Maybe that’s ego talking, but more likely it’s just the sound of crooked, jagged pieces slipping into place.

—

Retired from the post office, Liz Flaherty spends non-writing time sewing, quilting, and wanting to travel. The author of 20-some books and her husband Duane share an old farmhouse in North Central Indiana that they talk about leaving. However, that would require clearing baseball trophies from the attic and dusting the pictures of the Magnificent Seven, their grandchildren, so they’ll probably stay where they are. 

Liz can be reached at lizkflaherty@gmail.com or please come and see her at:    http://lizflaherty.net  

http://www.facebook.com/lizkflaherty 

https://twitter.com/LizFlaherty1 

BUY WINDOW OVER THE SINK HERE:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08Q5T2Y5S/

D2D: https://books2read.com/u/bw7NM0

Tags: featured, women writers

Category: On Writing