One Resolution

A solemn vow to turn a literal page.

Well folks, we made it to the other side. I hope you came through the holidays intact and with the energy to hit January running. This is the part of our program where the rubber hits the road on all those resolutions.

A friend was recently explaining the resolution plans she was weighing— to give up one thing for a month and another thing for the next month and in that way to start building a self-improvement through deprivation routine. It made me think, what about adding things to your life instead? Maybe it’s my years as an athlete, because a basic tenet of coaching is to frame things in the positive, because the mind skips past “don’t”. In your mind, “don’t sit back over the jump” becomes “sit back over the jump,” just as “don’t eat the cookie” becomes “eat the cookie”; conversely, the positively framed advice like “push forward over the jump” or “eat high fiber snacks” sticks in your mind intact.

My point is, that there are many ways to attack change and you don’t even need to label it as a resolution. There’s also nothing magical about New Year’s Day, other than it being a handy and popular starting line.

Still, we make those promises to ourselves in January, and sometimes, we make them public. There’s also a good reason for this. No sharing means no accountability, and no accountability often means no success. Your resolutions become like the Grinch’s to-do list: “Solve world hunger. Tell no one.”

That brings me to the one of my resolutions that I’m sharing. It involves you, dear readers, who have been with me for this ride on the Mothership. As a reminder, this all started as a way for me to find a home for a homeless book. That book, about my perspective of Nina’s Alzheimer’s journey, is all out there now in the Substackosphere. My resolution this year is to self-publish it. Inspired by Annaliese Godderz’ post about her husband’s gallant gesture of publishing her Mother Curious Substack as a book for Christmas. I mean that is a labor of love!

The magnitude of that gesture aside, in truth I wouldn’t want anyone to do that for me, but only because of what I’ve learned through writing Losing the Mothership. I’ve learned that the book I really want out there is different from both the original version and the serialized version. It’s closely related to both, but something between them—more animated and richer than the original, unpublished book, but more anchored in time than the Substack.

WHY A REAL LIVE BOOK?

Substack got the book off my computer and into the digital world, and connected me with a supportive, informed, interactive and creative community. That’s been all good and I’m excited for the Mothership to forge ahead and explore new territory in that space. Without an actual book to hold, however, the core story becomes like the thousands of photos stuck on our phones. If you never take that extra step of putting them into an actual album you never look at them, and they never touch you by bringing back a memory or a smile. The pictures become an online version of the shoe boxes stacked over your closet or in the basement, there but not really anywhere.

I do realize that self-publishing takes a lot more effort than creating the Snapfish album that drives me to tears every year. Another thing I’ve learned about resolutions is that the ones that work are the ones you are willing to suffer for. Writing and editing can be hell but it’s the kind of hell I know and even, in the thick of it, love. We all have the grinds that we are good at and that deliver some satisfaction. For me, writing is that grind.

REASONS TWO AND THREE

Part of sharing this resolution is accountability. Another part is crowdsourcing. I did self- publish Shut Up and Ski in 2012 on Create Space (which has since been swallowed up by Amazon) and the print-on-demand feature was excellent. Because it’s non-fiction I want to include pictures. Also, I’ve forgotten everything from the ordeal, so this is an all new learning curve.

If anyone out there with experience self-publishing has recommendations, please let me know! And if you are that unicorn of an agent I hunted in vain and are reading this thinking, “Please let me take all that work off your hands Edie,” …well I’ll be right over with double lattes.

Finally, publishing this book addresses another box I’ve been struggling to check—offering value to my paid subscribers. As we have discussed here before, I get that people don’t want MORE in their inboxes. Delivering more content is not delivering more value. All you readers, paid and free, have given me confidence, inspiration and support. You paid subscribers have given me a tangible nudge to get this thing out there. It seems right to invest your belief in this work directly into my dream of a Losing the Mothership book.

NOW OR NEVER: A FAMILIAR TUNE

I am admittedly very, very bad at investing money in myself so this is a huge and way overdue step. What pushed me over the edge was a story I only recently learned:

In 1966, the year I was born, Jim Croce used a $500 wedding gift from his parents (at their instruction) to press 500 copies of his first album, Facets. His parents hoped that it would get this music dream out of his system so he could move on. He died in a plane crash seven years later. Think of the music this world would never know without that $500 investment ($5000 in today’s dollars)? My book’s not going to change the world like Jim Croce’s music, but I hope it will bring some comfort to people struggling with a similar experience, and make some lives a little lighter.

Paid subscribers will get an evolving range of benefits from signed books and perhaps a hand delivered fruit basket (looking at you Founders and multi-year subscribers), to discounts, readings, sneak peak progress reports and other bonus content. It’s all a work in progress, but please know how grateful I am to all of you readers for helping me get to this point and pushing me forward.

Thanks for reading, and see you next time.