On releasing the work

like a balloon (or a grenade)

I recently signed a contract for my second novel, Chaos Magic, with Kallisto Gaia Press. This book was easy to write. Because it came to me easily, I believe it will be easy to read and fun to share.

That said, I’d be disingenuous if I told you I didn’t have mixed feelings every time I publish. I’ve written before that I never liked the analogy of “birthing” a book because it implies parenthood. And trying to be a watchful parent to creative works is nothing short of crazy-making.

I have often tried to release my words gently, as an offering or in exchange for modest paychecks. I visualize stories floating off like balloons, delicately journeying toward their perfect readers.

I’d intend to watch them and wave, ask them to keep in touch. Now and then, I’d glance up and catch sight of the way they reflected the light. I’d contain my pride and feign aloofness.

Photo by Chien Nguyen Minh

But even with all good intentions, I would soon remember I couldn’t control much about the release or the receptivity. I’ve had stories I thought might change the world fall flat and others I cared little for go viral or find their way into textbooks and college classrooms.

Then there’s the business end. And if I’m being entirely honest (who wants that?), I’ve chased down checks from large academic institutions for writing workshops and felt my heart sink when emailing the fourth time about a contracted advance from a small press; I’ve had bots rate my books (of short stories) with reviews such as “I liked the recipes,” with images of half-melted AI faces.

Sometimes, in other words, releasing writing into the world can feel less like releasing a balloon and more like a grenade.

Write something. Publish. Jump back and hide behind something robust, close your eyes tightly, and pray to Mother Earth that she’ll support you. Or, if you’re courageous, watch to see what will explode.

We wonder why we did it in the first place, and then . . . we begin the next writing project. You may wonder why. You may know. If you are someone reading this blog who is not a writer, you can read this as a behavioral case study in the wildly creative mind.

If you are a writer, you know it’s because writers are helpless to the power of the muse and her song. We’re here to share what she brings us.

People have a choice to write, but writers do not have a choice. We’re easily romanced and wired not only to write our stories—to process the world in this way—but to share them. And just like anything in life that we embrace fully, this means we put ourselves in a vulnerable position.

So let’s flip the coin.

Let’s take money out of the equation. Remove the impact of bad actors and irresponsible tech. Let’s cut to the core and remember that what we do is a process. What creative people offer is only muddied by expectation. Joy lives in the offerings we provide the world and the truths we explore for ourselves. Despite the human desire to hoard, it’s the release and what we give that keeps us nourished. And this includes our artistic offerings.

Kallisto Gaia Press is run by people with integrity, who have already gone above and beyond. I believe in their mission and them because I recognize the care they put into their works. We try do to the same

Unleash Lit

. I know in my heart that this will be a pleasant working experience, and I’m grateful. But the truth is, even if I knew Oprah would endorse my book tomorrow, I still can’t fully control whether it catches flight. It might journey around the world, but maybe it won’t catch the wind. I might collect a few accolades, and I might not. I love this book, but I can’t force it to fly, and I can’t make myself crazy watching the sky.

I will do my work to give it a good send-off, but I’ll also focus on letting go with pure intention. And we’ll see what happens. Artistic vulnerability is tough, but it’s inevitable if we are true to what we are compelled to do as writers.

As I mentioned in my website newsletter the other day, I am compelled to keep going, and my work will be a little stronger and a little more “me” every time. That’s all I can promise. And every time I get an unexpected email, often from someone I would have never imagined reading my work, that says, “Jen, I just finished your book. Thank you,” I realize how little power the negative experiences hold.

We are in this for that—the personal connection. The reader that somehow, despite it all, found our words and truly sat with them. In our digital age. Who found company in our stories or poetry. Who connected with our writing in a way that is beyond anything measurable.

So I’ll keep you updated on this beautiful book, Chaos Magic, and I truly hope you buy it and enjoy it (I’ll give you a heads up). But at some point, I’ll release it completely. And in the meantime, I’ll be off to start the next thing. And that’s the creative cycle . . . It’s not easy, but it’s nothing short of divine.

If you enjoy this blog, please let me know by subscribing, responding below, or sharing what you create with attribution. In gratitude, Jen