I couldn’t have done this without you. Writing a book was the easy part (sort of). Publishing and publicizing it has been a trickier endeavor. It’s like one of those water wiggler toys — just when you think you might have a grip, it slips and slides onto the floor.
Thanks to everyone who turned out for the launch party of Love, Loss and Lifelines: My Year of Grief on the Run at the downtown Tauranga Public Library last week. I loved seeing people walk through the doors and thought about my connection to each one. Running friends, workmates, international women’s group members, people I didn’t know, and of course, mon compagnon (my companion). What a delight to see him in the crowd and to share the moment.
At least 50 supporters packed the library’s event room and cafe space. I thanked everyone for the role they played in getting this project off the ground (forgetting to thank the library staff, who were rock stars when it came to marketing and set-up), then read a couple excerpts from the memoir. The first one was from the early days of Sean’s hospitalization when fears and questions made life feel murky and bleak. The next section took place in Paris, where my children provided comic relief by being their four and six-year-old selves, crying about walking down the stairs at the Eiffel Tower, sacrificing an ice cream cone to the pigeons, and trying chicken gizzards for the first time.
I got to sit at a table to sign and sell books. An actual queue happened as people waited to buy a signed copy. Regardless of whether you’re a New York Times bestselling author or a first-timer like me, this is a privilege, the culmination of a long-awaited dream.
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(Buy the book from anywhere in the world here: https://tinyurl.com/26292rkw )
Messages continue rolling in from people who’ve not only bought the book but read it, too, some in a single day. The memoir has reconnected me to friends and strangers from my past, and to new kindred souls for whom grief has played a major role in their lives. I am grateful when someone tells me they relate to our story.
While we all hold our own singular tales, we share universal ties of humanity, of loving and losing, striving and resting, struggling and overcoming. We question whether Joy has left our building for good when someone we love dies. We celebrate when she sneaks back in, surprising and delighting us in ways we had not imagined.
My friends and my marketing manager (shout out to Maria Page of Pocket Marketing) helped with set-up and clean-up alongside library staff. In about 15 minutes, the tables which were once groaning with food and drink were bare, everything packed away and hauled to my car. Mon compagnon drove out of his way to unload everything at my house, a gesture I will always cherish.
Publishing a book has been like building a house — it requires an infinite number of decisions; the work always takes longer than projected and it always costs more than planned.
Has it been worthwhile? If you have found value and connection in my words, I’m gonna say yes.