Today I came home from work to find a milk jug beside my bed. Now, we’ve had this milk jug forever. My husband is a perpetual saver, and throws all of his loose change in this every night before bed. Most of the time, he’s saving for nothing in particular. He saves this for things he wants, impulses and big purchases and what not, but it’s always been his jug–I just use the debit card. But today, there was a note next to the jug, and inside the jug, along with a solid 4 inches of quarters, was a $100.00 dollar bill.
The note said, simply, Ashley’s Book Club…
I have to admit, I cried. I could still cry thinking about it…and yes, I’m tearing up.
You see, today I got another rejection…which, one day I’ll touch on more…but the crux of the matter was this, she wasn’t inspired by my book. It was, I mean it, the nicest “no” I’ve ever heard….she told me that I deserved to have some be really excited about my book…
Naturally, as you can imagine, I called my husband. He gave me the good old pep talk about not being discouraged and looking on the bright side of things and how proud of me he is for what I’ve already done. And when we hung up, I did feel better. He has that gift–the ability to take my little downward spiral and shift everything. He’s a naturally good man and I can’t say enough about that–I’m a very, very, very (a million times over) lucky girl.
So, when I came home today and found the jug beside my bed…I knew, it was his way of telling me, he believes my book.…and I can’t tell you what that belief means to me.
Self publishing has always been on my radar. But, the more research I do, the more money I hypothetically spend. What an Indie author could put into a book is ungodly…thousands upon thousands upon thousands of dollars–and that’s just for a good edit. That’s not to say I wouldn’t spend that or won’t spend that, I’m simply acknowledging that the price of going it alone is staggering.
Right now, my book is a hobby. Something I’ve twiddled away the day doing. I’ve made no money, I’ve spent money. It’s no different than playing tennis or showing dogs or whatever else suburban woman are into these days–mani’s and pedi’s maybe? It’s been just me and my little computer and a snippet of fun. So, writing a big check out of our mutual account does give me a moment of pause…the feeling of, there is no going back, you’re all chips in now, girl.
But now I no longer have to fear that decision. The jug stands to represent, not permission, but partnership. He gave me his belief. And for that, I thank him.
Support, I’m finding, is the unspoken component to writing a good book. When you write, you give away a lot of things that once mattered a whole bunch. It’s time, it’s freedom, it’s the ease of life before you opened the “new document” and got waist deep in the world of imaginary friends.
I like to think I’m a good wife. But, my husband has gone to bed alone many nights. My husband has wrangled the wilds of the kitchen. We’ve hired a cleaning lady, and my husband has learned how to use the new fancy washing machine better than I. But he’s never complained. Not even once. He’ll stop by to rub my back and kiss my shoulder. He’ll put down a meal and ask me what I want to drink. He’s been my silent partner.
I can’t imagine how I’d be able to do this any other way. I’ve needed him, and he’s really pulled through. My husband gave me a book club today…and my first member is my best friend…how does it get better than that?