The book has been printed and it’s out in the world!

I’ve been gleefully fulfilling book orders for the past month and this week, friends have begun receiving every grain of sand in the mail! I’ve sold about 300 books so far and I’m feeling unbelievably blessed. My words and stories and poems are out there, in the world, in your hands—and out of mine…

Nothing snaps me into a state of blissful memory like the smell of a book. Vintage and musty or crisp and freshly printed, I am instantly transported. I have been so looking forward to holding my published book in hand, cracking open the spine, and taking in its scent. But our world is more unpredictable than ever in this COVID climate and time is completely relative. Finalizing the printing of my new book has taken much longer than I had hoped. The book that I was expecting to birth into the world in September is still not ready to go to print.

Writing anything can feel isolating, but there’s always this glimmering hope that the words and sentiments and stories will land where they are supposed to and mean something to someone—the promise of connection. Writing a “blog” can feel supremely self-serving, but I’m sharing my thoughts into the void aiming to involve my loved ones in my very solitary act of writing a book, so they feel included.

When I started chiseling away at the gigantic compilation of poems and short stories I had amassed, I was slightly overwhelmed by the sheer size of the document, over-stuffed with first drafts. Both sides of my brain scrambled towards perfection.

I have to be honest with you: I live with a somewhat embarrassing case of cetaphobia, a severe fear of whales. I’ve made jokes for years to deflect this ridiculousness. I mean, whales are pretty universally adored, hailed as “gentle giants.” Sure, I can see the beauty in them. I understand the theoretical appeal of a peaceful sea creature—I just can’t deny my knee-jerk reactions. I start sweating when I see images of them…

I devoured books as a child, reading absolutely everything I could get my hands on. I have visceral memories of crouching in bookstores, libraries, and stoop sales surrounded by the intoxicating smells of vintage and brand-new books. Starting as early as I can remember, I dreamed about writing a book of my own and took every opportunity to creatively express myself through words…

After having the realization that now was the right time to pursue this seemingly unattainable, life-long creative dream, I sat with over three hundred pieces of my writing and a big question. What exactly was I going to create with them?

A few weeks into the Covid crisis, I had a major realization. Without any upcoming jobs whatsoever, I might finally have time to publish the poems and stories that had been hiding in my proverbial (and literal) closet.…