“If Only One Person Is Helped…”

One of the major visions/goals that helped me write through, and edit through, and self-publish through the doubt, skepticism and fear of creating this book was the vision of at least one person being helped by it. I told myself that I was writing for that one person, and if it reached them, my reason for going through all of this mess was worth it.

Well here I am, on the other side of getting through the creation and birthing phases, and I gotta’ tell you it’s a weird feeling. To date, I have had at least three people write me and tell me how my book really helped them with their food and body issues (not including my editor, as synchronicity would have it!). And in the moment, the warm honey-like glow that came over me as I received their feedback felt like Yes. This is the reason I wrote this. My work has been done.

I received most of this feedback from women, but there was one man who responded and this was the one that took me. He spoke of his struggles and his healing path, how it mirrored a lot of mine, and how it was helpful to read someone else’s journey that wasn’t of the “perfect recovery in a box ilk.” And that also wasn’t like the typical female struggle, so that it was one he could relate to. This was my biggest hope, not that my book would provide “linear steps to freedom,” but that my words would be read, my cyclic journey with healing felt, and that this would resonate and give hope to the less linear journeyers out there. Regardless of gender. So yes, this reflected a dream, a hope, accomplished, and my gratitude for this healing effect on others was sated. Temporarily.

It’s now been almost a month since the release of Food Memories and all the flurry of facing my fears of what would happen if my story went public, of the release party and appreciations, of these dear people who bought and reviewed and wrote to me and told me of the impact of the book on their life. It’s been almost a month and at this point, it is very, very quiet.

No sales. No new reviews. No more feedback.

I knew this might happen. I allowed, of course, for the shiny possibility of the book finding its way to people’s hands and building an organic, magical following without my effort. That was another dream–that if this book (and my friggin’ private insides) needed to be seen by more people, it would happen in this way. I had no interest in forcing that, through marketing, etc then, and I still have no interest in doing this. But now, as I suspected might occur without my direct involvement, I am in the dead zone, or at least seemingly so.

I have done some work to move the book into the world, in ways that don’t just blurt out and splay said insides to as many people as possible. I’ve mailed it to several healers, therapists and experts in the field. I even mailed it to a father of a young woman who is struggling with severe Anorexia, to help him with perspective and to offer my time as a guide if needed. This all felt good to do, putting copies of Food Memories in the mail to do its work in the world. But now, after some weeks, there is just this silence. Who knows how my story is working its ways with these people, or whether they’ve the chance to read it in the craziness that is our world predicament these days.

In this silence, I am left to wonder what I am to do next, and whether I should force the publicity of this book or wait for it to simmer. I wonder what the most aligned thing is to do. I am terrified, still, of having masses of people know my story, but am willing if it is the best for all concerned. I am not really concerned with the sales for money sake, more just wanting to see the book–and all I was “guided” to put into it–out and fulfilling its purpose. I fear it will just die if I don’t feed it in some way. But how? What is truly authentic for me to do?

I plan to follow up with these people I’ve sent the book to. I wish I didn’t have to, that the book would have affected them so that they would feel compelled to contact me. That something bigger than myself would move this into larger fields. That something bigger than my own need for feedback would take place. To prove it was worth it. But that’s not how it’s panning out, and I’m making this mean that there is still some part I have to play in bringing the book to more people. Maybe it is part of my life-game, to explore polarities further from silence and humility. Who knows.

All this silence has put me back in touch with that expansive, universe-wide space of void that I feel inside regarding my purpose here on this planet. Without the momentum and hopes of writing the book, without the way the initial feedback felt, and without the clear desire to market it like mad, I am left here to wonder what I’m really doing here, what I really wrote that book for, whether there was guidance in all of that or just some fantasy crafted life meaning I whipped up to quell the existential angst inside.

Don’t know. But what I do know (and am hanging onto with dear life so I don’t slide down that precarious dark slope) is that the goal, the vision, the dream that kept me going in writing Food Memories came true. A major life goal…and fear…was accomplished. And that one person, to my astonishment, was helped by the words I bared on the page.

Blessed, blessed be.

~Food Memories by Reagan Lakins, is available in all online bookstores. If you want to support a small bookstore, you can purchase it through Bookwoman at: https://www.ebookwoman.com or request it through your local bookstore. If you feel moved to purchase and read my story, thank you! I would love to know how and if it affected you :}

After

You know how weird it feels to wake up on the day of your birthday and feel like nothing is really drastically different, despite the utter impossibility of the new number you now inhabit? That’s how I’ve been feeling this past week, not because it was my day of birth, but because it’s the “after” of choosing to press publish.

As mentioned last week, it was unexpectedly quiet after doing so, aside from my internal revelations. And this past week has been similarly quiet, a few emails from friends and colleagues cheering me on for my accomplishment were all that seemed different than my pre-published state.

My original plan was to let this book float out into the universe and to see what happened, without engaging in the weirdness that is marketing. And I’ve kept to that, aside from alerting chosen friends and those involved along the way (including you :}) with the completion of the goal.

In the relative silence of this choice, I started to wonder about that plan, whether I should be doing more to encourage my book’s success in the world. Again I picked up sassy marketing books, contemplated entering contests, sharing about the publication with social media. Again I balked. Something, at least right now, doesn’t feel right about it. All the advice screamed, “Get on it now, or your book will go unnoticed! Pre-launch and post-launch are perfect times to run a book giveaway!”

Ugh.

Yet with these suggestions ringing in my mind, all I could envision was my book as a very small baby, and what it might feel like to be marketed and sold to the world, social media, etc. And of course this made my skin crawl…an obvious reaction with that re-frame. I also thought of my new-born vulnerability and how crazy it still feels to have my soul out there to be read by anyone. Do I want to gather millions to ogle at that? Um..no. I for one don’t even want most people to know I’ve had the baby! Do many new parents face this conflict?

Herein lies the strange and complex journey of following the soul’s guidance to do something scary, sometimes kicking and screaming whilst doing so. Whereas what a writer should want is many readers, I am the opposite, at least in having the desire to find them. I am open and willing to be seen by those who somehow find the book, but to call attention to it en masse does not feel right. Am I making a mistake, letting my book die on the vine? Who knows. All I know is I feel like puking every time I look at marketing material.

I’ve been going through pictures from my mother’s recent passing, and in them I found one of me as a child on stage with my mother. I’m in a blue and white polka dotted bathing suit, and there’s a sign behind us, “Tri-county Beauty Contest.” I’m probably about four years old. She has a marvelous bouffant hair-do and is dressed to the nines. It brought me pause to think that she did that, enrolled her four year old in a beauty contest, but the age span made me think. Perhaps it will be when my babe is four years old that I will feel ready to bring her on stage to the wider audience. Who knows?

For now, I’m letting it be. I’m enjoying the silence, although a little uncomfortable I’m doing it “wrong.” I’m gazing at my babe poised on my ancestor altar, amazed by it. I’m waiting. I’m asking for its journey to unfold for the greatest alignment of all concerned. I’m holding it, and my vulnerable self, like a baby not yet ready to face the screaming, blaring, honking, critiquing world all at once.

This blog seems to be a safe place to show her off, in a non-smarmy way. To share about the process of her in-utero growth, the ups and downs, and finally her birth. I’m so grateful for that, for you who make it here to read. Thanks for being the small community that I can share her with.

It Lives…Food Memories Is Published! Boom!

Well folks, I did it. I still can’t believe that I did it, but I did.

I pressed PUBLISH, and watched as a link to my author page manifested before my eyes.

https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B08HSLZ1TD

Some part of me thought mountains would shake, arrows would fly towards me, or some other crazy result would occur from doing such a thing. But that Wednesday morning after pressing the button, things were pretty quiet ((aside from the entire West Coast burning around me–prayers all around)).

What did occur was a series of internal earthquakes. The first rippled through as I stepped out of the shower post-publish. I suddenly realized:

I just completed a major life goal. Something I committed to doing before I die.

Waves of pride, and amazement, flowed through me. And then, a powerful surge of wanting to volunteer somewhere! I was a bit puzzled by this reaction, but then thought how it made sense. I’ve been spending the last however many years plotting, crafting, writing, anti-socializing, editing, etc to get this task done, and now there was a well of energy being released for a new use. So I’m working on that.

The next boom that happened was the realization that I had taken a step to finally become visible. My words, my story, the fact that I struggle with eating and body issues, my ideas (and I’d like to think teachings) about all of that–these are all now able to be seen by the public eye. For so many years I have kept these things hidden from everyone save for a few trusted souls. Now for all to see? How terrifying…and exciting. A few years ago I wouldn’t have been able to hold this possibility. A few years ago I was still in too much of a Hermit mode, alchemizing. But now, it feels right.

The last boom (at least for now) was an image of my ideal reader, in my mind. I had to draw her, and I do hope she is out there reading somewhere, being comforted by my words. Here she is :}

If you are her or know someone like her please do check out/share my book page with her…I want this book to find her! Again the link is: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B08HSLZ1TD

As always, I am ever so grateful for your time and attention. Hope all is well with you out there in these crazy, crazy times.

Love and booms~raVen

The Final Proof Reveal…Food Memories!!!

Hello amazing people. I hope this reaches you and your loved ones in a well place…so much going on these days. I send my love out to you.

I am so grateful to have this outlet to share this process. Thanks for tuning in with me. Especially anyone who has followed my journey from the beginning, to finally seeing this completion.

So. I finally received my proof copy in the mail. I waited two days to open it, nervous. Nervous it would look bad again, requiring another round of fluffing. Nervous it would look good, requiring me to finally push the publish button. Despite my quaking, this morning I drew a tarot card and decided to dive in. Here’s what happened.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is image1-1.jpg — Nine of Pentacles and the waiting package

The first card I draw is the Nine of Pentacles. A lovely lady in her fruitful, peaceful and protected garden. She is admiring the completion of a physical creation. This gives me solace as my hands shake whilst ripping the package open. I certainly want to have the calm, full of gratitude kind of aura this lady has, but all I am is nervous! My breath shallow, I slowly lift the copy out of it’s package…would this copy be the one that urges me to finally release it into the world?

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is image2.jpg — The front of the final proof, and Tower/Fire cards…yow!

The first view is of the front cover. I chose to change the arrangement of the picture and title so I could use a different template for the back cover. It isn’t the most amazing arrangement, but it ain’t half bad. I kind of like it, actually. I also chose to switch to a glossy finish, which looks classy too. I’m kind of feeling more like that lady in the garden now. I flip through the inside, I really like the look of the formatting. I really like it. I feel…gulp…it is time to decide to be done. To press print.

I am drawn to choose two more cards now that the worst part is over…ones that exemplify my next step with the book. I choose the Tower and the Knight of Wands. Double gulp!

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is image3.jpg — The back cover and looming presence of the initiation cards

Satisfied with the front and inner matter, though a little nervous about the nature of these cards, I turn the book over to inspect the back. I like this view a lot. I included a picture and a little bio here and it looks nicely spaced out. Triple gulp…I think it really is ready.

But what of the cards? The Tower, showing a lightning bolt decimating a structure, ablaze and people jumping out of it, is not exactly the warm and fuzzy nature of the Nine of Pentacles above. A peaceful garden it is not. And the Brother of Fire, he’s also not just sitting around being grateful. He’s moving quickly, aiming towards his goal with passion and determination.

What this means to me is that in the course of just a few minutes–before opening the package to now holding the final proof in my hands and writing about it–I have gone from a safe, contemplative place to one of readiness for a powerfully transformative stage in my creative process. One that requires strong and determined action on my part. One that requires the risking of heading into major foundation shaking. Often the Tower card might indicate to not do a thing, but coupled with the Brother of Fire, it feels like it is saying, “Yes this will totally rearrange you, to hit publish and release this into the world…but you must! You must! We must! Let us ride into the fire and be transformed!”

I think I just might be crazy enough to follow that guidance. By the next time I blog, I very well may have pressed “Publish” and have Towerish experiences to report to you. For now, I am sharing these images with you, shaking in my boots but also feeling the Brother of Fire within me. I do believe I am about to ride into the Fire.

*Nine of Pentacles from the Golden Universal Tarot by Roberto De Angelis; Tower and Brother of Fire from the Tarot of The Spirit by Pamela Eakins.

The Final Edit, Beach Style

9am. Already 88 degrees outside.

I decide to drive south to hopefully reach cooler climes and a quiet beach nook to begin the task of facing my book one last time before its printing. Wind in hair, and sweat already forming on skin, I head down Highway 1 to the Monterey Bay.

First stop, ACME coffee in Seaside. I’d never been here, but at the suggestion of a good friend decided to try it out. It’s a hidden gem in an industrial area but it’s known for strong brews and I certainly need one for this task. I settled on the Mexican Mocha. Lovely.

Back in the car, and curving down the highway I reach Pacific Grove and Asilomar State Beach. It’s only 10:30 am and the sides of the road are already packed. I’m a bit bummed I’ll have to stay in my car to have any privacy. That is if I can find a parking spot.

I do, and decide to get out and take a look around. The 80 degree, slightly cooler breeze hits my face and I’m glad I made the trip. It’s not much but I hate the heat so it’ll do. I walk down the planked path to the edge of the sea, its rhythmic waves and seagulls honking in my ears.

I grew up on this coastline, and each time I make the drive down a certain familiar comfort comes over me. I have a few family members I visit here–although they are all dead. My trip usually includes the cemetery (a few streets down from here) and this oceanside where my mother’s ashes have been absorbed into the great liquid mystery.

Amazingly, when I look down from the plank path, there are only a few people here on this plot of sand. I am urged to hunt out the perfect spot for my morning, and perhaps afternoon, editing adventure. I find a nice little shady nook and set up my place, nestling my Mexican Mocha and water into the sand, extracting my proof copy, pen and notepad.

I lean into the nook’s sandy dune wall and look out to the sea. I take a deep breath in. Ahh. This scent, this view holds so much. As mentioned, it literally holds my mother, as well as memories of sitting on this white shore with my now dead boyfriend. It feels incredibly ironic and meaningful to be heading back into that story as I sit here on this same beach.

This coast. Beauty, interlaced with decades-old grief. Refreshing coolness, mixed with the dread of whether my book will be too horrid to put out. Or rather, whether the experience of others reading it will be. I face these fears every time I pick it up.

Not today. Today I commit to walk past those fears and to dive in. I begin.

Over the course of the next few hours, I am totally sucked into the story. I am laughing, I am crying. I am proud, I am nervous. I can’t believe I wrote this. The formatting looks more beauteous than it did a few days ago, and the story reaches me more emotionally than it has in a while. The pages seem to glisten, sparkle. I wonder if it is the Mexican Mocha, the level of caffeine running through my veins. It’s possible, yet I feel it may be more related to what has happened inside of me in my readiness to be seen as an author. To be able to stand in my story and share it with the world.

I hold this book in my hands and feel so grateful. I close my eyes and let the waves comfort, and remind me. I feel the sea breeze whisking across my shoulders, and wonder if my ancestors are here with me, supporting me, pointing me. I rise and make my way down to the lapping waves, letting them cool me. I lean against a crystal embedded tan boulder and look at the equally crystalline waters at my feet. I sink into memories, these memories, of mother and death and love and struggle. I cry again.

I look up and through the rocks in the near distance there is a family of Sealions basking in the unusually warm rays of the sun. One of them lifts its head up and peers at me. Again, I feel as if the more than human world is speaking to me, supporting me, seeing me, getting ready to finally do this.

I nod at the furry creature, he (?) seems to feel satisfied and lies his head back down. I turn from the sea and find my way back to my nook to carry on with the task at hand. I am filled with determination and confidence. I feel more ready than ever to move forward for whatever strange reason. I lean back against the dune wall and tip the edge of my sunhat to shield the now blaring sun. I take in another deep breath and dive back into the final pages of what will soon become.

Almost, Almost There

Well folks, Food Memories arrived in the mail on Thursday.

I waited another few days to open it.

I was nervous. Nervous it would be ready, nervous it would not.

I finally decided to open it, and lifted it from the envelope to rest on my lap.

Thicker this time, from the formatting and added content, it was heavy, solid. Of that I am proud…I have written a real, materialized thing.

But that satisfaction was quickly distracted by the image, the cover image–the one I am using to sum up the story of my life. Staring at this image, it was pixilated, grainy. I felt my heart sink, and the inner voice of “Here we go again, another round…”

I could leave it be, call it “rebellious art.” I really do just want to be over with it! But there is something else inside of me that wants to push through and make it look exactly as I envision. It is not good enough for me to release to the world yet. I am good enough, that is not the issue here. It is a quality of creation I want to accomplish, and try as I may, I do not have the tech skills to pull it off on my own. Believe me I’ve tried. Researched and fumbled, but could not shift this image to clarity.

It is oddly ironic, how fuzzy I still feel about my identity on this planet, and the struggles I am having in making my cover image read clear. The level of frustration and anger I felt at not being able to accomplish this graphic imagery feat also feels directly related.

Anyhoo…now I am with that. Needing to ask for help, again, to do a cover overhaul. Needing to delay this process for a few more weeks…Harumph.

And that’s just how it looked on the outside. I peeled open the fresh pages to reveal to myself the Inside, and the formatting is pretty. The layout I am satisfied with. There are a few typos only a print proof could reveal, so it’s another on the list of what I need to get outside help for to fix as my formatter has my manuscript held captive in her InDesign program. Another place I feel I wish I didn’t need someone else but reality bites with my level of tech. Someday I hope that to not be true!

Flipping quickly through the book made me wonder if I dare actually read the entire book again to see if there are more typos and edits I want to do. Overwhelm and frustration whacked me as I thought about this. A part of me wanted to say “f*ck it!” and hit the publishing button. So DONE with this. But that other part, that determined part, is somehow stronger. It urged me to put the book down, to close the computer, and take a few days off of thinking about it…but to definitely go through it one more time. To definitely ask for help with the cover. Harumph!

So now I am with all of that. And I will side with this part that wants to persist…at least for one more print run. But if all doesn’t work out, I might just say “f*ck it!” and let the “rebellious imperfect art” thing a try.

Feeling all the feelings, and grateful for all I have at the same time. What a weird tension of opposites to hold, especially during these times.

Wish me luck :}

Food Memories Update

As I sit here today, I realize this blog has become a mish-mash of sorts: updates on my memoir publication process, random spur-of-the-moment rants about my relationship with food and body, and an occasional burst of poetry.

My original intention for this space was to recount my adventures with trying to eat more joyfully despite the physical pain and discomfort of it all, and while I have done that to a degree, this blog has seemed to take a few turns from that place. So hats off to those of you who are still with me on this twisting theme roller coaster :}

Today I am pulled to give an update on the progress, albeit slow, of my upcoming memoir, Food Memories. Thanks also to those who have stuck through this with me as I wriggle my way through this process.

There isn’t a whole lot to say aside from the fact that I am closing in on the final touches of the last edit, have a cover/format assistant helping with its appearance…and am really close to hitting the upload/publish button (gulp). I still think it is a totally crazy thing to be doing this, but I am doing it anyway. I still tremble in my boots in thinking that the private thoughts, memories and revealing nature of my book will be out available for public viewing. For public commenting, kind or nasty.

And I still also fear that nothing will happen after I release it. Silence, grasshoppers, nada, nilch. That all of the years and money and fear and hesitation will have been for “nothing.” That is one voice in my head, of course. I know that the “process is the journey,” and I’ve learned so much from it. Yet there is a part that still really wants this book to have a powerful meaning and effect on its readers. This part wants to experience validation and proof that my urge to write and share this sensitive information, to splay myself out naked in front of the world, had some reasoning behind it.

Yet there is a part of me that is bracing, and accepting the possibility of only the chorus of crickets. And for that to be okay. For the fact that I had a powerful urge to create and share this thing, before I die, and that I did it. I’m really feeling more and more okay with that being it if it turns out to be true.

The ironic thing here is that I am not feeling pulled to do any marketing on the book, other than here, to get more people to view it! It is terrifying enough to have it available for public viewing, let alone me actively parading it around trying to get people to read it. I simply am trusting that it will find who it needs to find in the river, and if there is any kind of need for interaction that comes of that slow burning fireball lobbed into the universe, I am available. But purposely putting effort into getting thousands of people to read it? Sheesh no!

I have to laugh at my complicity in my own possible authorship demise, lol, but it’s true. And I am sticking to it unless some other opportunity reveals itself.

So. The update:

~Final edit, check.

~Cover and formatting, almost check.

~Boots quaking, definitely check.

~Acceptance and (mostly) non-attachment to outcome, check, check and check.

Thanks again for following my loopy process :} When I hit that publishing button, you’ll be the first (and probably only!) to know.

Today I decided to upload my manuscript, and self-created cover, to KDP, as it is. My editor is still working on my line edit, but I really feel a desire to see what my upcoming memoir, Food Memories, will actually look like in printed form. How it will feel. The fact that I can print a proof copy before committing to the publish button, that I can get a copy (albeit imperfect) in my hands in a matter of days…this pushed me to hit the button.

My inner perfectionist is squirming, but I am excited. Today I hit print.