Earlier this week, my publisher at Chicago Review Press called me. Hearing her voice reminded me of the thrill I felt ten years ago, standing in a conference room at H&R Block corporate HQ hearing my first book had just been bought. And I sold it all by myself.
She was calling to say it was time. There were three boxes left, total. Did I want to buy them?
I reveal this with the intention of giving aspiring authors a gift. Sometimes you hit the five reprint lottery, and sometimes you are lucky to help start a category but don't own it. Hey, them's the breaks.
I can safely say I'm in a good mental health place because being asked if I want to buy the final physical copies of SIFTW didn't make me cry. I just bought them. I'm going to do a workshop on publishing of which they'll be part, but mostly I hold them to treasure the memory of the excitement and wonder and pride I felt in 2008 because I told myself when I was 12 I'd publish a book, and now I've done it twice. And I gave a copy of SIFTW to my new co-worker with twins and he said his first book had come out goddamn never.
SIFTW lives on now only digitally. But it still happened. OMG, you guys, that was the best. I'm not even embarrassed to admit how excited I was at this thing blogging that would give normal
people a platform from which to jump beyond themselves.
Those were lovely days. I was lucky to participate.
So I have 64 pounds of books in my library and my husband and daughter are rolling their eyes, but I've given up Rita the blogger and Rita the speaker. I don't care if my books go out of print. I remain Rita the author.
Goddamnit. It is glorious. And it is not yet over. I will it so. Onward.