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It’s That Time of Year again.
My fifth book, WITHOUT
HIM, is due to hit the shelves on June the 3rd
and it doesn’t get any easier.
Pre-Publication-Panic as I call it, is a horribly anxious time for
any author - unless you have the hide of a rhinoceros.
If you
do and remain unencumbered by worries of what your readers will
think (never mind the critics or your peers) – then I guess the
whole thing could be considered terribly exciting.
If you
don’t, then like me, you’ll agonize constantly and drive yourself
crazy with a lot of terrifying
what if’s.
But hey – that goes
with the territory.
It’s
the risk we writers take:
being
ridiculed, criticised, ignored – or being enjoyed, praised (not to
mention paid) for a job well done.
Until
the next time.
But
this is what story telling demands.
Each
and every time, we put our necks on the (written) line, which is
why some of us, from time to time could be considered a little
odd.
It’s
our way of coping. And the methods we employ are as varied as the
individuals, from Paul West
-“I write in the nude, seated on a thick
towel..”
hmm. To our own late great Brendan Behan,
“I’m a drinker with a
writing problem”.
Personally speaking, I
tend to retreat, and I’m good at it.
Working from home, as I do, this is an obvious, if impractical
ruse (on-line supermarket shopping helps tremendously).
In
fact I do it for a great deal of the rest of the year whenever I
can.
It’s
the reason I took up writing full time in the first place.
I
wanted to be left alone in peace.
I left
my last career as an advertising copywriter because I couldn’t
stand the idea of going to even one more all singing/dancing
presentation.
It
didn’t help that I have a phobia about public speaking which was
inconvenient - there are only so many campaigns you can mime.
Writing fiction, it occurred to me, would be the ideal solution.
I
could hide away and write a book, I thought, and once a year
(preferably through a hatch in the wall) exchange my manuscript
for a check and say ‘thanks very much – see you next year.’
Unfortunately that’s
not the way it works.
Now,
more than ever, the marketing and promotion of a book is critical.
As an
author, you have to put yourself ‘out there’. This means
interviews, radio and television, in fact as much and any exposure
as you can get, which, if you find that intimidating – means more
sleepless nights, more panic. An occupational treadmill.
The results are
predictable – stress, depression and anything from mild to acute
anxiety.
Sound
familiar?
I
thought as much – many women writers and journalists are
exhibiting text-book symptoms of stressed, working women both
inside or outside the home - everywhere.
That’s
the bad news. The good news is that we can write about it –
therapeutic in itself perhaps.
Writers have always been a fairly neurotic tribe at the best of
times.
It’s
part of what makes us do what we do, unless you’re delusional
and/or egotistical, in which case you’ll be found out fairly
sharpish.
There’s no hiding on the printed page.
So, in an attempt to
quell the current bout of anxiety, the latest technique I’m trying
is meditation - tougher than it sounds if thoughts (not to mention
characters) race around your head faster than Hussein Bolt.
Unfortunately the one and only trip to my teacher involved me
getting completely lost, which brought on an unexpected panic
attack. I managed to pull over into a petrol station where a kind
taxi man valiantly tried to decipher my gasping attempts to attain
directions to my destination.
Anyone
who has tried to approach Howth from the south side through the
tunnel and via Baldoyle will understand why I was
hyperventilating. I had missed my turn off, and the only signs to
be seen shouted TUNNEL or M50, neither of which I wanted. Soon
large lorries were bearing down on me and fellow drivers were
shaking fists as I dithered. The tunnel seemed the lesser of two
evils. After that it was all a bit blurry.
That was a few weeks
ago.
I won’t say meditation
is a quick or magic fix (what is?) but I am sticking with it.
Some
days it’s only 10 minutes as opposed to twenty or the recommended
thirty minutes (twice a day ideally) – but any time, however short
is better than none at all.
Is it working?
Dare I
say it, I do feel calmer, marginally.
And
I’m definitely less attached or distressed by prospective
outcomes, professional or otherwise.
In
fact, I might even be beginning to chill, which is something of a
foreign notion to me.
Anyway, it doesn’t cost anything and scientific evidence
has proved it’s good for you in lots of ways – so what have I got
to lose?
In the meantime,
WITHOUT HIM will be out and about from the third of June even if I
am not.
To
read more about the book
click here.
To
read an excerpt
click here.
I really,
really
hope you enjoy it.
And if
you don’t – well I’d better practice my deep breathing then –
hadn’t I?
Namaste,
Fiona.
© 2010 Fiona O'Brien
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