Tag: risk-taking

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Back To You

Hey.

I know it’s been a while. I hope you still remember my name.

I’ve been a terrible blogger for the last few years. It’s been challenging to find time to write my novels, market my novels, teach others how to do that via YouTube and social media, and spend time with my family. Blogging had to be left behind.

But blogging poems and blogging about writing are how I got pulled away from journalism and onto this career path back in 2007. I started this blog as “Where the Butterflies Go,” you all commented on my poetry, encouraged me to turn the posts into a book, and … […]<<< a whole lot of stuff happened! and here I am today, a published author, with four novels, five poetry books, a screenplay book and a kids’ book of poems under her belt. I never could have imagined I’d still be doing this more than a decade later.

I don’t think I’d be here if I hadn’t started that blog and had such great feedback from you readers. Thank you.

I miss that interaction, don’t you? Social media certainly makes it easier to comment (no logging in…I’ll see what I can do about that btw) but you don’t always have the same “clan” coming back. I miss my bloggyland tribe.

I’ve learned so much since my first novel was published. Here are a few of those lessons:

1) Take risks. If you don’t risk, you don’t grow. I know it’s scary, especially for so many of us introverted artist types (surprise, yes, I’m in fact an introvert who had to come out of her shell through drama as a teenager when she realized that’s how artists grow). I have had such an interesting life because of a few brave moments.

2) You have to put yourself out there as an author. No one else, not even your publicist, knows your product like you do. You have to go to the book signings and the speaking engagements, tweet about stuff that really matters to you, and risk looking like a fool (see #1) if you want the right readers to find you. In time, many of those readers will become your friends. Cool right? It’s not all about making money…but…

3) You have to spend money to make money. I didn’t like this one very much. You mean you have to spend money to advertise that your heart and soul of a book is FREE for a few days? Yes, you do. You don’t have to do that until the end of time. Just until you gain a reader base. It sounds wrong, but it’s right. I didn’t start making a profit as an author until I started spending money directing traffic to my books.

4) Give back. I feel this one strongly. I like to encourage and teach aspiring authors, because I remember how maddening it can be to feel like you’re getting absolutely nowhere. I still have those days, trust me, but that’s because I’m trying new things every day (audiobooks, TV deals) so I’m still learning what works and what doesn’t work. There are tens of thousands of new authors out there who are struggling to find their audience in this ever-changing book industry. I just want to encourage them before they decide to call it quits. Speaking of calling it quits…

5) Don’t quit. Success if probably just around the corner, or at least the corner after that. Keep on going, dreaming, risking, believing. Don’t put a second mortgage on your home, mind you, please be smart about it, but do everything you can to get your book seen. You have to keep on going, especially if you have a strong “knowing” about it. If you know it’s supposed to be, it will be. It’s just a matter of time.

I’m so happy to be back. I’ll try to do this weekly!

Heather 🙂

 

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The Fine Line: “Do What You Want”

“You’re getting wrinkled.”

“It’s not that hot,” I coughed through the steam.

“You’re getting drunk.”

“It’s rosé. I’m pretty sure you can only get tipsy on the pink stuff,” I laughed. Still, I decided he was right. It was time to get out of the bath. At 31 years old, this newlywed was already a little too wrinkled for her liking.

Hubby handed me a towel. Before he even got a word out–typical, really–I looked up at him and asked him one more time:

“Do you really think I should do it? I’m gonna do it. Should I do it?”

“Do what you want.” He smiled at me, then walked into the other room.

“What are you doing? Hey!” I hated when he did this. Leaving decisions up to me was a very bad idea. And yet, he did it all the time. His philosophy is, so long as no one gets hurt, I’m a grown woman, it’s really all up to me. Once, I e-mailed him from the 27-floor building where I worked, saying I hated all the bureaucracy, hated the tediousness of the work, and wanted to quit. Could we afford it?

He typed back: “Do what you want. Do what makes you happy. Do whatever doesn’t involve jumping out the window of a high-rise building.”

I finished getting dressed, wrapping the towel around my head like a turban. As I walked out of the bathroom, I found Bill standing at the kitchen counter, pouring me another glass of wine.

“Here you go,” he smirked, handing it to me.

“What’s this for?”

“Liquid courage.”

“See! I knew you knew I was gonna do it.”

“Of course you’re gonna do it. You’re showing off how good you are at finding phone numbers on the Internet. Show-off.”

“Do you think I’m crazy? I mean, it’s probably not even his phone number.”

“I’ve always thought you’re crazy. This just makes you crazier.”

I didn’t even stop to stick my tongue out at him. I took a quick swig of the wine, picked up the phone, and started dialing.

One ring. No one was going to answer. Come on. It was his home phone number in New York. How the hell did that end up on the Internet? Two rings. Did this mean I was a stalker? It just popped up on my screen! It’s not like I’d even been looking for it! Three rings. Someone was answering. Holy hell, someone was answering!

“Hello?”

“Um, Mr. Sitcom Actor?”

“Yes. This is Mr. Sitcom Actor.”

“Wow, I didn’t think you’d answer. I’m Heather. In Montreal.”

“Hello, Heather in Montreal.”

“I, er, um, I just wanted to call and tell you how much I’ve loved your work in movies and television. I’ve watched it all.”

“Hey, that’s really nice. I’m about to go to dinner with my girlfriend and my Mom…”

“No, no, I’m married, Mr. Sitcom Actor. He’s right here, actually. I’m just outgoing like this. I just felt like you might need a pick-me-up. I had this gut instinct that I should call. It must sound crazy.”

“No strings attached? Really? Wow, that’s really sweet. I’ll tell my Mom!”

“Cool. Have a good dinner.”

“I will, Heather in Montreal. Thanks so much for the call.”

I hung up the phone, turned to hubby, and performed a jiggly-jumping-up-and-down-quick-spin-around-“Oh Yeah! I did it! Oh Yeah!” ritual that I would come to refer to as my Heather Dance.

“Ha! He answered! And he was touched!”

“Or maybe you’re touched.”

I laughed and clicked my wine glass with his.

And that was how it all began.

So, as you can see, clearly, it’s all my husband’s fault.

Prologue: The Fine Line (between persistence and stalking)

Read the next chapter here:
The Fine Line: Emails from L.A.