I published a book!

What a great way to celebrate my COVIDversary

I’m pleased to announce that my memoir is now available to the world! [It’s so exciting/terrifying to write that!]

Independence Ave: How Individualism Killed Me and Community Brought Me Back is not your typical feel-good, inspirational read of a woman’s victory over disease. I don’t leap over every tragic hurdle with gazelle-like grace. In fact, I play the villain in my own story as much as I play the hero. I often let my circumstances get the best of me before finding healthy ways to cope. But if you’re willing to take the somewhat sordid trek together, I can promise you that Independence Ave ends up being an interesting little tale about spiritual growth.

Around the time I got diagnosed with epilepsy, I realized there was a book in me. I physically felt its presence in my bones. This probably had something to do with the soul searching I was doing in my M.S. in Organization Development program at American University. It also had something to do with soaking up other peoples’ stories for the decade that I ran hair salons. People tell their hairstylist the most amazing, raw, eye-opening things. So when my own life started hitting the fan, I’d been living in a rich story-land for some time and it felt quite natural to map out my own monomyth.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that self-publishing a memoir (as a non-famous person who is also not an established author) is a terrible idea. It’s awkward and scary and time-consuming and humbling. It’s expensive, too. I managed to avoid predatory “vanity presses” in birthing my book baby, but I’ll be lucky to ever earn back what I spent on independent editors, formatting software, and the like.

Truly, publishing a memoir is a terrible idea in every way. I don’t recommend it unless you really feel that you have nothing to lose. Me, I’ve done most of my best work when I had nothing to lose. So I had high hopes this time, too.

There’s this disconnect, because drafting your story is as delightful as publication is dreadful. Journaling is a great way to come to terms with things, and knitting your journals together into a cohesive story is a good way to prompt healing (if difficult) talks with your inner circle and to redirect the future so that you can move beyond your past. Completing my first draft 90 days after surviving cardiac arrest was so satisfying. So necessary! I was in love with that draft. Then, to make it readable and accessible to others, I had to “murder my darlings,” as the William Faulkner quote goes. Three professional edits, several beta reads, and countless drafts later, it’s safe to say that nothing short of surviving sudden cardiac arrest could have compelled me to see this project through.

There’s something about near-death experiences that inspires folks to get honest—perhaps even to overshare. I was further propelled by the shock of learning that a book I’d started writing five years prior wasn’t actually the story I was destined to tell. Cardiac arrest changed me. And I worked out the ramifications of that on the page.

Dog on Path - back cover artwork from Independence Ave

As stated in previous posts, I consider myself to have two distinct lives. Cognitively Intact concerns my current life. In this newsletter, I offer recovery snapshots in real time. Independence Ave is the story of my first life. Specifically, it’s the story of why and how that life came to a crashing halt, and what my personal demise means for all of us.

Several times, I decided to give up on Independence Ave. But each time I set it aside, it came back. Sometimes it came back through learning another person’s story and realizing that mine could help them. Sometimes it came back because I needed to re-read a section and remind myself of lessons I’d learned ten times before. Each time I doubted my ability to share my story, someone else had faith and told me so.

This book could not be less a solo act, but it required deeply intimate work. With each pass and each dose of external feedback, I returned to myself and asked: is this really what I mean?

I knew it was time to publish when I could answer: It is, now. It is.

On December 1st last year, I got my first positive COVID test. Chris had been sick for a few days already. We had no idea what we were about to face, or that COVID would very nearly succeed in taking me out.

It’s taken every bit of these past 12 months to feel that what I gained in understanding and peace was worth what we went through, even the parts I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. If my little memoir does one thing well, it shows how hard some of us fight to reach each new today and how, against all odds, that turmoil can (sometimes…just barely) be worth it. What better way to celebrate my COVIDversary than publishing a story like that?

I’ll leave you with one of the “darlings” I cut from the final manuscript:

How well do you know the scenes shut in your own waters?

The minimalist in me would prefer to write a poem, and the scientist a peer-reviewed journal article. If I were a more imaginative writer, I’d invent a novel. As it stands, this jumble of essays will have to serve as my testament. Numbers, Mirrors, People, Plague. Then—The Weak. This collection feeds meaning one story at a time, reminding me of the pictorial parade we experience right before dying. Only, these essays concern something far less comforting than the peace of death. They concern the perils of not dying: the searing pain that follows every new chance and decision to live more fully.

I can’t think of anything more important to secure than my brightest reflections. I write about them not to bestow any higher truth, but to shut them inside me forever. While many post their stories on Instagram and Facebook, I model an old art here. We used to write to remind ourselves who we are. Not others—ourselves. The freedom in my essay practice is that it matters not one whit what others may read in my work. These essays are mirrors. The point is not to be understood. The point, I think, is to understand.

For the next few weeks, my attention will be on friends, family, and trying not to make COVID a yearly thing while traveling around the East Coast. I will be thinking about you, dear readers, and writing for you, but I will be taking a break from publishing new posts until the first Friday in January. Have a great month and a relaxing holiday season! And if you find yourself with downtime and suffering withdrawal from this newsletter, order a copy of Independence Ave while it’s still hot off the presses.