The “Excitement” of Publishing a Book (and Other Hilarious Jokes You Can Tell Yourself)
Okay, let’s just rip the bandaid off right now: the idea that publishing a book is some kind of glamorous, joyful parade of champagne toasts and confetti? Yeah, that’s about as realistic as a unicorn wearing a monocle while sipping tea. In the real world, where writers huddle over their laptops fueled by lukewarm coffee and existential dread, the experience is a tad more…complicated.
In fact, I’d argue that the emotional journey of a writer with a newly published book can be neatly categorized into five distinct stages:
The Five Stages of Publishing a Book
- Preemptive Shame
- Panic
- Horror
- Retroactive Shame
- Envy (Ah, yes, we’ll get to that one)
You see, dear reader, we writers are a self-sabotaging bunch. We’re experts at mentally fast-forwarding to the inevitable crash-and-burn of our careers before they even have a chance to take off.
The Green-Eyed Monster in the Room (It’s All of Us)
I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that at least a few of you reading this are writers yourselves. And if you are, I’m willing to bet even more that you’ve experienced the soul-crushing grip of writerly envy. No, don’t even try to deny it. We’ve all been there, scrolling through Twitter, only to be bombarded by yet another tweet announcing someone else’s six-figure book deal, glowing review in The New York Times, or—god forbid—invitation to be a guest on Oprah.
It’s enough to make you want to chuck your laptop out the window and take up knitting instead. Knitting seems peaceful.
When Your Book Flops and the World Burns: A Comparative Analysis
Here’s the thing about writerly envy: it often feels supremely silly, even downright obscene, when you consider the state of the world. Like, I’m over here fretting about Goodreads reviews (spoiler alert: they can be brutal) while the planet slowly melts like a forgotten ice cube in the summer sun. Climate change doesn’t care about my word count, folks.
It’s enough to make you want to crawl into a hole and hide, right? And yet, here we are, human and flawed, grappling with the uncomfortable truth that we can hold both global anxieties and personal neuroses in our heads at the same time. It’s a strange paradox, to be sure.
The Shame Spiral: When “A Rising Tide Lifts All Boats” Feels More Like a Tsunami
And so, we enter the shame spiral. That delightful little corner of the writer’s psyche where we compare our meager sales figures to literary giants, our lukewarm reviews to rave reviews, and our general lack of Pulitzer Prizes to, well, everyone else who seems to have one. It’s a fun place, you should visit sometime. (Don’t actually visit, it’s terrible.)
Someone once told me that “a rising tide lifts all boats,” meaning that when the publishing industry thrives, we all benefit. And while I intellectually understand this concept, emotionally it feels more like I’m in a dinghy, desperately trying to bail out water while a luxury yacht named “Stephen King’s Yacht of Success” speeds past, creating a tidal wave that threatens to capsize my little vessel of hopes and dreams.
The worst part? I have this sneaking suspicion that even if I did manage to scramble aboard the S.S. Literary Success, I’d probably just find something new to feel envious about. Maybe the snack table on George Saunders’ yacht would have better hummus. You know, the important things.
Goodreads, Gargoyles, and Other Things That Keep Me Up at Night
Let’s talk about Goodreads for a second, shall we? That wonderful website where readers go to publicly dissect your work with the surgical precision of a heart surgeon. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for every single person who takes the time to read and review my books. But some of those one-star reviews, man? They sting.
“The main character was so unlikeable,” one reviewer wrote. And you know what? They were right. I mean, have you MET me? I’m a walking, talking ball of neuroses and self-doubt. (But hey, at least I’m self-aware, right?)
Maybe, just maybe, this whole negativity bias is just a way to protect myself. Like a gargoyle perched on a cathedral, I’d rather be seen as ugly and intimidating than risk someone actually getting close enough to see the vulnerable mess I really am. Because if they don’t have high expectations, they can’t be disappointed, right?
Finding the Life Raft: Gratitude, Acceptance (and Maybe a Little Therapy)
So, where do we go from here, dear readers? How do we navigate the murky waters of writerly envy, self-sabotage, and the occasional scathing Goodreads review?
Well, for starters, I’m trying this radical new thing called gratitude. Instead of focusing on all the things I don’t have (a Pulitzer, a yacht, better hummus), I’m trying to appreciate all the things I do have: a loving family, incredible friends, readers who get me (even the ones who think my main character is a hot mess), and a career that allows me to do what I love. It’s a work in progress, but hey, even baby steps count, right?
I’m also trying to accept the fact that fear and uncertainty are just part of the deal. The writing life, much like life itself, is messy and unpredictable. There will be moments of triumph and moments of despair, sometimes all in the same day. And that’s okay.
Staying Afloat
In the end, I guess what I’m trying to say is this: I’m still here. I may be soaking wet, clinging to a metaphorical life raft made of coffee mugs and crumpled drafts, but I’m afloat. Whatever the opposite of drowning is, that’s what I’m doing.
About the Author
Catherine Newman is the author of several books, including the essay collection “Catastrophic Happiness” and the novels “Waiting for Birdy” and “One Mixed-Up Night.” She also writes the popular Substack newsletter “The Empty Nest Chronicles,” where she shares her musings on parenting, midlife, and the joys of finally having an empty laundry basket.
