I had been preparing for my book launch at the Life
Enrichment Center for weeks. For at least three weeks it was the first thing I
thought of each morning at around 5:30 am. I lay in bed as the opening
statement of my presentation floated into my mind, mocked me as my words rose
above to the darkened ceiling over our bed. The words rose like chalk lines on
a black slate, then evaporated like dust, or dreams. By the time Tim stirred
beside me I was ready to rise and rush to my laptop, sleepily making revisions
to my presentation. It seemed fine, but how could I know, really?
I argued with myself, as we writers always do. Is this
the right word? Am I getting my feelings across? What can I say to let others
know the struggle and the joy my memoir had created in my life? What’s
important? What should be avoided?
I practiced in front of Tim, in front of the mirror as
I was putting on make-up and as I was driving to complete one errand or
another. I thought I was ready. But what if I froze up at the last minute?
Getting a haircut and a highlight helped my confidence, but the day of the
event I was having a bad hair day. No way one can make thinning hair cooperate,
no matter what you do to tame your coif.
Finally the day arrived. My dear friend Kelly picked
me up and her confidence buoyed me. We arrived at the Life Enrichment Center
and some of my friends were already there. The hugs and well wishes I received
were much needed and appreciated. I was amazed to see all the happy faces of
friends, the chattering of writers reconnecting, the wine being served and the
Cubans consumed. So much welcoming warmth. Then, two magnificent bouquets of
flowers, completely unexpected and very much appreciated, arrived in the arms
of two LEC members. The scent, thoughtfulness and beauty of the flowers stilled
my fears. The positive responses from those who had read my book pushed me to
the forefront of the room. So far, so good, I thought, as the chattering
quieted down.
Taking a deep breath and making eye contact with a few
of my dearest friends I began my presentation. It flowed. All those 5:30 am
practice sessions, all those dreams providing me with the right words had
served me well. People laughed, seemed close to tears at times, nodded and
understood. I had wormed my way into their attention, hearts and minds.
The readings I chose from my book were appropriate:
one page from my hippie life, one from my housewife life. I could see the
smiles and comprehending eyes. I sensed other women and men traveling through
the years to their own hippie days, their own child-rearing years.
Then we had a short question and answer period. I had
looked forward to this part of my presentation, having no idea what questions
would be raised. I answered each question thoughtfully and hope my answers shed
light in the world of my listeners and readers. I thanked everyone for those
who said I was so brave to have shared such intimate secrets, pains and joys,
of my life.
I replied, “Either I’m brave or stupid to have shared
so much!” Everyone laughed, as did I.
One woman rose, Pamela, who I knew, but whose history
I did not. Her remarks, not a question, stopped me in my tracks.
“You said you might have been stupid to share so much.
You are not stupid. You are courageous, and you gave me courage. I can relate
to all you said. Everything meant so much to me. I have been through the same
psychological abuse. You’ve inspired me to write my story, which I’ve been
wanting to do for years. The truth of your stories for those who have had
similar experiences make me realize I’m not alone. You’ve given me courage to
write my own story, to free me from my own past.”
I had no idea Pam and I had shared experiences, which
I could see she was still healing from. Pam’s words gratified me as much as any
of the positive reviews I had received. Her words were poignant. They came
unexpectedly from her heart and soul. They hit home for me and every person
present. There was a hush in the room. We were all amazed at Pam’s confession,
the importance of her sharing her secret self. How many others were
experiencing the same thoughts? In that moment I realized I had done something
that matters. I had written a book others could read, relate to, and grow from.
That evening as Tim and I did a redoux of the event
and how well it had gone, I reminded him of what I had said four years
previously. We had been discussing the expense of my hiring an editor and going
forward with all the work of having my book published. I knew how slim the odds
were of being published. He had asked me why publishing this book was so
important to me.
I replied, “If I can reach one woman who has
experienced the same type of emotional abuse I will know I have succeeded. Just
one person to learn what I have learned, and who might gain courage to change
her life or confront her past.”
Pamela was that one woman. She made all the financial
struggles, the work of querying agents and publishers, the feeling of
desolation I experienced with each agent’s and publisher’s rejection worth it
all. Her confession touched my heart and validated my dream of publishing and
reaching “just one woman”.
Thank you, Pam, for validating my words. For being
“that one woman.” I look forward to reading your story. I hope there are many
more who will discover their courage in my words, and their own.
You, and all my readers and listeners, have made all
the fears and doubts worthwhile. Thank you. You have taught me so much.
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