Beyond the Grind

The Mindset Shift Every New Author Needs

I am home again after traveling to Canada to see my family and check in on the bookstores carrying Grit & Grace. I have to say, the journey was more relaxed than last year, when I was a newly published author.

At the time, I realized how stressful those early days had been—wondering what to do, how to do it, whether I was doing everything I could, and whether I was doing it right. This year, it was a relief to relax into the knowledge that I had done what I could and had done it to the best of my ability.

Like every new endeavor, there is no way to know exactly what you are doing until you are in it, navigating each step as well as you can. It’s like navigating the ocean: you prepare as thoroughly as possible, and then respond to whatever appears in front of you—big waves or no waves, plenty of wind or none, broken equipment or the equilibrium of having everything aboard running smoothly and without a hitch.

That’s what happens on the outside. There is also the inside: feeling completely at peace, or experiencing days when everything feels jangly and uncomfortable in your own skin. There are days filled with quiet excitement and anticipation about where this adventure of life is heading, moving, and unfolding. Then there are days of trepidation and fear about what is happening, what will happen, or whether you will have what it takes to navigate the next rocky shore.

Some days, any sense of self-confidence is obscured by clouds, and all you can hear is the foghorn of a loud inner voice blaring its censure and dread at everything around you.

I went into my latest book fair without enthusiasm. I wasn’t fearful, but I definitely felt bland, as though the excitement of being a writer had worn off and being a published author had become an everyday grind.

I went through the motions of packing the car with boxes of books, making sure I had my table signs and a tablecloth in case one wasn’t provided. I gathered pens and change, my Venmo QR code, and a collapsible rolling crate to carry everything across campus to my vendor site.

As I placed my retractable author banner in the car, I noticed that the fear and anxiety present at previous events were absent. All these motions and preparations had become familiar—a routine I could approach with confidence, free from the undermining doubt and fear that had plagued me around all things book-related for the past several years.

Previously, I had worried about whether I would sell books and whether it would be worth paying for a table if I sold only a few—or none at all. But after participating in almost a dozen events, I had experienced selling lots of books and selling no books. I had engaged in many inspiring conversations and had left venues feeling as though I hadn’t connected with anyone at all.

So that day, I knew it could be any of the above, or a combination of them. My job was simply to show up.

It was foggy and gray in the early morning, although the forecast called for high temperatures. I had no idea where I would park, how I would unload by myself, or how I would find my table. And yet, I felt relaxed and peaceful. The day would bring whatever it brought.

And what a day it turned out to be.

First, I found parking and my table easily. Only a few other authors had arrived, so the atmosphere was quiet and calm, as though the marine layer were a protective blanket over everything.

I had originally planned to share a table with another author, but they decided to withdraw a few weeks before the event. I was disappointed and wondered whether I could manage on my own—or with an unknown author who might be assigned to share my table. Moral support is always welcome when you are putting yourself out into the world.

Upon arriving, it was instantly obvious that I was alone at my table, with plenty of space and excellent visibility along the foot traffic surrounding the writers’ area of more than a hundred authors. I also had trees and lawn in front of and behind me. I introduced myself to the authors in the booths around me, and we shared our books, hopes, and dreams for the day, creating an authentic sense of camaraderie.

Before the festival officially opened at ten, I checked my electronic payment systems on Square and Venmo to ensure I was logged in and ready. I asked a neighbor to watch my table while I found the nearby bathroom and water-bottle refill station. I even walked around the entire block, saying hello to fellow authors without feeling rushed, anxious, or strange about leaving my station.

I wasn’t stressed or scrambling at the last minute, panicking to set out my books, grab a coffee, or wondering whether I had forgotten something. When people began filing past our tables, I was naturally ready, prepared, and present.

There were thousands of people. It was quite amazing. Because of the way the tables were arranged, people had to walk past us on their way into and out of the event.

There were older people and young people, people dressed professionally and people dressed for the beach to cope with the heat. Some were meandering and browsing the authors’ tables; others were on a mission, striding confidently past me toward their destinations. Throughout it all, people stopped to talk with me about my book, their books, their aspirations to become writers, and everything in between.

I loved it. I had more fun as an author than I had at many of my previous events. Was it the event itself? The people who attended? The beautiful university campus? Was it me, maturing as a seasoned author? Was it the stars?

Who knows? But that day, I felt as though I had crossed a particular Rubicon in a writer’s journey. I am grateful and feel blessed to have experienced yet another precious facet of my writing life.

It wasn’t bland, and it wasn’t an everyday grind.

In gratitude to you, my fellow readers and writers,

Deborah