Today I visited my boys' school.  Two classes and a writing club, to which both of my boys belong.  The woman who runs the writing club began the visit by giving me a plant.  A pineapple lilac or something.  It's purple.  And it looks like a pineapple.  It's a clever name, really.

"I asked your boys if you were a plant person," she said. "They said no."  My boys don't lie.  I used to have plants... until the cats chewed every last one of them to bits.  There's not a sprig of color in my landscaping, either, because DOGS.  And now we have horses in our backyard.  So, yeah, maybe someday I'll try to cultivate life again.  Today is not that day.  Well, except for the really pretty flower thing named after fruit.

The writer's group was great, of course.  There was so much enthusiasm in that small group.  Each of them had written questions on index cards and took turns reading them out loud.  I made my boys blush by sharing the bits of "Daniel" based on them, which may be my favorite part of being invited to the school (but don't tell the boys).  The teacher spun my answers so that they related to concepts she's been teaching the kids.  She left out the part about drinking too much caffeine and popping Cinnamon Fire Jolly Ranchers like they're going out of style.   

The writing group teacher bought copies for each of the kids who weren't able to buy a copy for themselves, so that was really sweet.  I'm not sure if I'm supposed to say that out loud, but she did it.  I liked it.  I'm telling you about it.  

Then we had cake.  Really, really good cake.  Chocolate with that whipped cream frosting.

I may just sign books for her class, like, every day.

Next I spoke with my 10-year-old's class.  They read the whole book, but they asked me to read a section out loud for them anyway.  We agreed that the part about Whiskers in the tree was the perfect section.  I got to talk like a robot and, for a few seconds, a cat spinning on a ceiling fan.  My life is weird.

One of the kids asked how I came up with the character "Annie", Daniel's best friend.  For several years, my son had only one very good friend, a girl who is still in his class.  When I told the kids that I had based Annie on a girl they knew, I had to quickly make sure they knew she probably didn't eat worms.  

I've said my life is weird, haven't I?  Just checking.

My next stop was my eight-year-old's Second Grade class.  They had only made it through eight pages of the book because their teacher hadn't been able to do more than that due to multiple family emergencies the month before.  As expected, the kids weren't very excited about me being there.  One girl, who spoke in a cute little whisper kept mentioning something about her mom writing a book about ninja ballerinas?  At least, I think that's what she said.  It was hard to hear over the class next door's Kidz Bop version of "Fireworks".

The teacher gave me her microphone thing and let me read a couple chapters of the book.  Once I did that, the kids were much more excited about me and "Daniel the Draw-er".  I got to use my acting skills to read as Daniel, Annie, Whiskers, Pi-zzabot, Tommy, Lila, Ms. Konkle, and Mr. & Mrs. A.  It made me miss drama class.

One of the boys from the writing group was there for the reading, too, and he was actually finishing my sentences as I was reading.  Like, from memory.  

Wait.  Do I have a fanboy?  Because I really want some fanpeople.  That's awesome.

All in all, 19 books found their new homes, and that makes me happy.  I'm pretty sure it would have been more with more notice (or with more reading), but it was a good--and long--visit anyway.

And I got cake.  Thumbs up, friends.  Thumbs up.

Daniel the Draw-er is my first published book, and my first self-published book.  It goes without saying that I'm working out my marketing plan as I go, seeing what helps and what doesn't.  I hope you don't mind being a part of my wily schemes and wacky experiments.  You don't?  Good!  We'll get along just fine, then.

For the next 21 days, you can download a PDF or .mobi (for Kindles or Kindle apps) for free, in exchange for your reviews.  The Story Cartel is a great site for helping authors with exposure, and I hope you'll be a part of this adventure!

Please share with your family or friends!  That's the only way to get my story into the hands of kids all over the world.  Thanks, friends!

Download "Daniel the Draw-er" at Story Cartel Now!

I need help.  I need your help.

I need you to throw anything you have at me--prayers, good thoughts, jingles, spare coins, whatever. 

It's an unholy time of the morning and I am up because my blistering shoulders told me to get up and rub the lotion into the skin (I really did NOT want the hose again).  Once the lotion soaked in, though, my mind couldn't turn back off.

This publishing thing has me all sorts of conflicted, y'all.  Reviewing the facts (or lack of facts) I have on my prospective publisher, I should continue on my merry little way.  But here I am, pausing.  It makes no sense.

A friend of a friend told me that if my goal was getting my book out there no matter what, even at the cost of my own legitimacy, to go ahead.

At the cost of my legitimacy?

Ouch.

My work--my status as a writer--could be construed as unworthy should I chose Publisher B over Publisher A?  Or, in another example, self-publishing vs. traditional publishing?  I presented this idea to my husband, who assured me that reasoning was flawed.  "If you're on the worst baseball team in the division, that makes you less of a baseball player?"  Some would say yes, but I understood what he was trying to get through my skull.

I get it.  I wouldn't have asked this friend of a friend to drop some knowledge (or, at the very least, scathing opinion) on me unless I didn't really want to hear it.  And I'm trying to be open to what is coming back to me--good and bad.  The problem with this particular company is that it sounds so promising, but it is so new that that's all there is right now--promises.  I'd sincerely hope that people would caution me about what I'm considering.  I'd likely do the same in their shoes. 

The answer to all of this seems so clear sometimes, and, at others, I can appreciate the views on the other side.  Frustrating.  Where is my Magic 8-Ball when I need it?

I'm obviously still weighing the plusses and minuses of this particular company and publishing traditionally at all, and I'm still on the fence.  That being said, I'm supposed to talk with their contract guy later today to explain their process.  I'll update when I know more, if I even know how to decipher any of the legal mumbo-jumbo into words any of us can wrap our brains around.  In the meantime, I'd reallyreallyreally appreciate it if you could think of me and help me to receive clear direction as to whether I should proceed or not. 

Thanks.  You're a peach, I don't care what the others say about you.

I'm currently in a holding pattern, waiting for beta-readers to finish up with my first book and get back to me with their comments.  Another writer confessed to me that the waiting period always makes her nervous.  It made me think.

As a writer, you spend thousands of hours pouring words onto a page or screen. Ideas are born, full of promise and excitement.  You grow and change with each character.  Together you encounter a full range of problems, from tiny bumps to impassable mountains.  When tears roll down their cheeks, your tears follow suit.  Heart in throat, you wait by their side as their last breath falls from still lips.  After 'The End', you discover that you've become someone richer in experience than the person you were before it all began.

To share that with others, especially others whose goal it is to point out your scars and imperfections, is frightening.  It is opening yourself--and your new friends--to attack, no matter how well-intentioned your attacker.  It is lowering your defenses in the hopes that the arrows will serve to build you up rather than fatally wound.  You make yourself vulnerable.  Vulnerability is unnatural for us.

In many ways, this feedback process is like falling in love.  It is delivering your beating heart on a platter and hoping it returns safely--that they love in return.  It is trusting that the other person has only the best intentions, only the purest motives.  It is the hope that they are skilled in architecture and demolish only what they must in order for us to rebuild stronger and more complete. 

There is such great and awful responsibility in love and art.

Maybe you don't write and you find it difficult to relate to my illustration because of that.  That's okay.  I think it still applies to many of our passions, not only the crafting of sentences.  Do what you do with love, because of love.  Accept the help of others with love.  Extend your hand to others with truth and compassion.  

Making yourself vulnerable and opening your heart to others is scary.  Sometimes you'll bleed and wish you'd kept your shield tucked tight around your chest.  At other times, bringing others alongside you on the journey reveals unspeakable beauty.  The joy is nearly always worth the splinters along the way.