Book Pregnant

A lot of women authors use the words "book pregnant" to signify their current book's pre publishing status. It applies to me right now. In just thirteen days (but who's counting, right?) my first novel, Child of Mine, will be published.  It's been a long time coming.

Like pregnancy is oftentimes, the journey to becoming a published author has been long and winding, took twists and turns I never could have predicted, and is ending joyously, but nervously, as I enter a new unknown. The difference is that my human pregnancies "only" lasted ten months (I delivered at 40 and 40.5 weeks, respectively) whereas I've been pregnant with Child of Mine, literally, for years.

It started with writing a first draft. I loved the idea of writing about someone going through infertility, because I went through infertility treatment myself, and the feelings about it have never gone away, even though it's been sixteen years since my last treatment.

Then there was the editing. I realized partway in that the job I had chosen for my main character wasn't right so I started all over again, making her a midwife, which added to the story's tension.

Then I got reads from other writers and a professional editor.  I was told that the book should not be in first person, present tense, as I had written it, but third person, past tense. So I had to revise the entire thing to reflect that -- a huge job! I almost wanted to cry. In the end, I think I've done as many as fifteen full revisions of Child of Mine, not just for those things, but for dozens of other issues that have cropped up along the way.

I had to find an agent. (That is another story deserving of its own post!) I had to find an editor. Find a cover artist, etc., etc.

All of this leads to a very, very pregnant author! Now that I'm thirteen days away, I am so pregnant I can't see my toes. So pregnant that I feel every tiny movement my book makes. I'm equal parts excited and nervous.  My dream of being a published author is finally happening! And, of course, this means my book is going to be read by (potentially) thousands of people who have their own opinions about it.

I hope when you read Child of Mine, you'll find that it's a labor of love.  That it was worthy of your time and attention. And mostly, I hope you don't find my baby too ugly.

If You Don't Like My Book, That's Okay!

A writer doesn't get to the point of a debut novel easily. Usually, she has written multiple books as she hones her craft, has taken writing courses or even earned an MFA (Master of Fine Arts) in Creative Writing. She's queried dozens -- if not hundreds -- of agents to find one who believes in her work enough to offer to represent her -- and she and her agent have sent her manuscript to dozens of editors, trying to find one who is willing to make an offer (and can get her publishing house to back her) and all of this is besides the time that the author has edited, rewritten, edited, rewritten, and edited again. (You get the point.)

All of this leads the writer to, well, want you to really, really like her book. She wants you to enjoy the story so much you can't stop thinking about it, the characters are now people you care about, and you can't wait to visit new characters in her next novel!  There is nothing more important to an author than the email she gets from a reader saying she loved her book and couldn't put it down.

It is not possible for everyone to like your book.  As much as we authors hate to admit it, there will be people who just.don't.like.it.  People who didn't get it. People who were bored by it and put it down after the second chapter. People who read it all the way through using sheer will and declare it gets only one star on Amazon.

We just don't want to admit to ourselves, that after all the time and effort we put into the book, after all the tears we cried over it (literally), the frustration that hounded us, the days and nights we couldn't think about anything else but the book that some people won't like it.

I've been steeling myself for this "I just didn't like it" moment since I found out Child of Mine would be published. (Three weeks from today on March 12!) I've been steeling myself for negative reviews, for one star on Amazon, for a "Not even going to say one thing nice about it," on Goodreads.  Because that is reality.

It's okay, really, if you don't like my book.   I don't expect everyone to.  I've been through plenty of rejection, plenty of this-wasn't-for-me from the industry to know that it will most definitely happen. But if you DO turn out to like it, can you let me know? Because I kind of like it, myself, actually.

Infertility Changes Your Life, Forever

In my forthcoming novel, Child of Mine, my main character, a midwife named Katie, goes through infertility treatment to try to conceive a child. Her life is turned upside down, and she stops being able to enjoy all of the things she once loved -- biking, her family, Yankee games, her work, and the people most meaningful to her: family and friends. 

Infertility treatment -- and miscarriage -- was one of the most life defining experiences I ever had. Though I went through it twenty years ago (for my older daughter) and sixteen years ago (for my younger daughter) I still strongly remember so much about it.

The antiseptic smell of the elevator as I rode up to the second floor of the building, and the desolate hallway I walked at seven in the morning when I had to be there for my blood draws.  The long line of patients waiting at that hour to get in appointments before we all dashed off to work, the stick of the needle and the one time I almost passed out and had to lie in a room for a while until my blood pressure came back up, the shots my husband gave me in my rear end every night for months (back then, yes, that's where all the shots went) while I leaned over the ironing board, and most painfully, the February afternoon I had a D&C after finding out my eleven week old fetus had not survived.

I remember wondering if it would ever work, and how many more cycles I had to endure. I remember wondering what kind of procedure was next and why was this happening to me. I dreaded baby showers and baby namings and wondered if that would ever be me. I wondered a lot.

I didn't sleep well in those months. I was always on edge. The hormones made me crazy and the treatment made me forgetful. I screwed up at work a lot, but I didn't tell anyone there I was going through anything.  I wondered if I would get fired before I could quit, and I could only quit once I no longer needed to pay for treatment. 

Fortunately for me, I was able to conceive my two girls and carry them to term.  I look back and have no regrets, glad I did it; I simply can't imagine my life without them.  But during that bleak time in my life, I didn't feel a lot of hope. Only a lot of pain. 

You get through those difficult times, though. But you don't forget them. They stick with you forever.

Mothers and Daughters

I got pregnant following a struggle with infertility.  I went through months and months of complex treatment and never knew if I would actually end up pregnant, either with my first child or my second. I suffered a chemical pregnancy, an eleven week miscarriage of a daughter (I was told it was a girl without indicating I wanted to know) and the miscarriage of my younger daughter's twin. Still, with all of this, I did have gender preferences.

I'm ashamed to admit it.  I should have been -- and was -- thrilled to be pregnant, and to have healthy babies.  That was the main thing.  But both times, I secretly wanted girls.  It wasn't because I didn't like boys.  I like boys. They are cute and fun. I have two fabulous nephews who I love being around. But I was afraid I wouldn't know what to do with a boy, how to be a mother to a boy. A friend of mine who is the mother to two sons said, "In the end, they're just people," and of course, she is right.

We chose not to find out the genders with either of our children. The first time, my husband wanted to be surprised; I wanted to know. I had been stealing myself for a boy all along, and knew I would be happy and thrilled if it turned out to be a boy, and would love him and would know just what to do with him, even if, during the pregnancy, the idea of mothering a boy made me feel wholly incapable.

When the baby was born, the first thing I said, through a strongly drugged haze (yes, this was nearly nineteen years ago!) was "What is it?" My doctor said, "It's a baby," like I'd just asked the stupidest question in the world. "The gender!" I cried.

"Oh," she said, flipping the baby over. "It's a girl." I held my hand up to my face in shock and over the next several weeks, frequently opened my daughter's diaper just to make sure.  Yes, nineteen years later, she is still a girl!

With my second child, my husband wanted to know, but I had decided I liked the delivery room surprise. This time I thought I was having a girl, and again, I was afraid about raising a son.  And it did, in fact, turn out to be a girl, who just turned fifteen. (By the way, my husband is one of four boys, so girls have been a huge learning curve for him, but he is excellent at fathering them.)

The main character in my book, Child of Mine, does not have gender preferences. She just wants one healthy baby.  But she does struggle with her relationship with her mother, and she does imagine what it will be like to be a mother, as well. Did you have a gender preference? And was it after struggling with infertilty treatments? Do you roll your eyes at those of us who have wanted a particular gender, just grateful your baby was born healthy, or born at all? Share your story with me. I'd love to hear it.