You may remember a little while ago I turned to my loyal Sassholes to inquire what you’d look forward to reading in a book written by me. As much as I love blogging, I’ve always felt my greatest strength as a writer (besides my sense of humor and timely Disney references) lies in my storytelling and my voice, and though I love blogging, I’ve always felt more suited to writing longer pieces. When I first started flirting with the idea of actually trying to write a book, I had no idea where to begin, and that’s why I turned to all of you for guidance (because I’m even inept at book flirting). I make an effort not to talk very much about my writing with friends or family, because their level of interest always disappoints me. When I tell someone, “So, I’m thinking about maybe writing a book…” in a perfect world, I want them to drop everything they’re doing and completely lose their shit.
“KATIE! ARE YOU SERIOUS?! YOU’RE WRITING A BOOK? FINALLY. THIS IS SO LONG OVERDUE. WHAT’S IT ABOUT? HAVE YOU STARTED IT? DO YOU WANT TO BOUNCE IDEAS OFF OF ME?! I SIMPLY MUST READ ALL YOUR NOTES RIGHT NOW!”
I haven’t gotten that reaction yet. In most cases, when I first mentioned my book to the few people I’ve told, they seemed uncomfortable and/or constipated. I mean, no one’s openly given me the middle finger or anything, but I guess I shouldn’t have expected such a jubilant reaction just for attempting to write a book. It’s not as if I got knocked up, and I’m growing a human being or something.
But I mean, the gestational period of this book will definitely exceed nine months, so in reality, writing a book is equally as impressive as giving birth (maybe more-so, but what do I know, I haven’t done either, yet). I should have learned by now that you shouldn’t expect other people to be excited about a sometimes soul-crushing undertaking that often results in failure, disillusionment, and despair. Ironically, it’s because this is a sometimes soul-crushing undertaking that often results in failure, disillusionment, and despair that every week, it would be so great if someone stopped in their tracks and asked me how writing my book was going, because at least once every week, I want to close my head inside my laptop like the pearl in an overpriced oyster. Not to mention, I’d love to gossip a little about my own book. I mean, it’s pretty exciting, isn’t it? Is it just me? I’M EXCITED. HEAP ATTENTION UPON ME!
At any rate, I took all of your wonderful feedback into consideration, and I started running with one idea that I had, and it was going really well. I felt like John fucking Steinbeck (I have no idea why I chose him, either, but I most likely was not anything like him). I was pleased with what I was coming up with, and everything was wonderful and fabulous until I changed my mind about it and started writing something else. That something else showed a lot of promise, and I was making progress until I realized it didn’t feel right either, and before you know it was onto a new Word document titled “thebook3.”
I’m still in the early stages with “thebook3,” but unlike the others, there’s something about this that just feels right. One of my biggest problems as a writer isn’t writer’s constipation (twice in one post? I’m so sorry. I promise I’m regular.), it’s writer’s diarrhea. I have so many ideas that it can get overwhelming, and for a long time I was acting as if this is the only chance I have at writing a book. Once I reminded myself that writing this book doesn’t have to be all-or-nothing, I felt empowered to follow my instincts. What I’m writing about now was one of the first ideas I had when I started thinking more seriously about actually doing this thing. It’s kind of a biggie, and it’s very personal, but I think it’s important. It’s one of the most significant accomplishments of my life, and one that I often undervalue.
It’s with sweaty palms and stomach butterflies that I tell you the book I’m writing, my first, is going to be about my weight loss. In its current iteration, it will be a memoir-style reflection about my weight throughout my life, with discussions about body image, farting during yoga, enemy thighs, etc. It will not be a how-to. It will not encourage you to live and die by your BMI. It will be my story and my thoughts–nothing more, nothing less.
I hope you’re as excited about it as I am, and words of encouragement are always welcome. It’s been difficult juggling blog writing, book writing, work, my demanding DVR, spending time with friends, etc. and I like to think I’m managing it pretty well, but let me get real here: I’m asking for a little pat on the back. It doesn’t have to be your full hand, and you can wear a glove, but this book stuff is emotionally tolling, guys. Feel free to RSVP to my pity party at any time. I’ll be serving bruschetta and pigs in a blanket (or more likely, Nacho Cheese Doritos), and the tiny violin player will arrive promptly at 7 P.M.
I seriously appreciate the support. Without this blog and you guys reading it, this may have never happened. (Okay, it probably would have eventually, but you’re still really special and wonderful.)
