Okay, I have a confession. This whole book launch, the “promote your book” part of being a writer? Not my favorite. What is my favorite (besides hanging out with my biggest fan, a dog who can’t read)? Getting lost in the dream of it. The book, I mean. The writing of the book.
So it’s a conundrum then, to take this dream, this made-up story, and present it as an item for sale. It’s a scary thing to shove the story from my head out onto the stage and not only share it with the world, but let the world take it from me to its next incarnation—one that has nothing at all to do with me, its creator. Writing a story that may or may not resonate with others is one leap, but arguing for people to purchase, read, review, and possibly embrace the story is a whole other weird space. I mean, these characters, they’re imaginary. The world they live in is a combination of my terrors, fantasies, and projections. To be honest, in my cringier times I think: why would anyone want to live in my head?
Don’t misunderstand, though, the evolution of Faultland’s characters, travails and outcomes did not arrive via a solo ride through my brain. The making of this novel was a collaborative undertaking. I am thoroughly grateful to the early readers and the critique partners I’ve had over the years. The outreach, development, and editorial teams at Ooligan were so constructive and smart in their helping me to shape Faultland through its final draft stages. This novel was six years in the making, went through two complete “studs out” revisions, as well as half a dozen upgrades. It was rejected by 87 agents. Yes. 87.
The publication side of authoring is so divorced from the creation side. And once you actually find a publisher to acquire the novel—or decide to put it out yourself—along comes that other dream. You know, the nightmare, actually. The giving a presentation in your underwear nightmare, which is doubt writ large. What if, after all the work, the wrestling with scenes and sentences, the book sucks and everyone hates it? Those fears completely derail an author in pre-pub mode. That eighteen months or so before book release where you’re on the hunt for blurbs and reviews. Hopeful that your book will garner all the stars, that a reviewer will grace you with a sentence like:
“Vitello turns Faultland into such a readable novel by combining both of these elements – the dystopian world and the dystopian family.”
Add to that the timing. We are now a year into “virtual” book release parties. No SRO crowds at Powell’s. No afterparty cake and wine at Cassidy’s. Instead, there are masked stock signing sessions. Book release gatherings through a computer screen. But, okay, another confession. I think the new way of launching works better for me. Indeed, yesterday ranks up there as one of the most satisfying days I’ve ever had as an author. I got to sign copies of Faultland at Broadway Books and Barnes & Noble while conversing, one-on-one, with the respective booksellers (like Sally, who agreed to replace Barack Obama’s window poster with mine!).
Just seeing and touching the stacks of the book, MY book, the book I wrote and rewrote and re-rewrote, got me all verklempt. It was a moment that I was happy to experience privately. To savor. To be completely present for.
In my earlier rodeo, winter 2014 when my debut The Moment Before came out, I launched it at Voodoo Doughnuts (due to the publisher’s snafu, The Moment Before wasn’t immediately available at bookstores—but lookie below! Tom Spanbauer made an appearance). A month later, I had a second book release party in Seattle at the Elliott Bay Book Company where my way-more-famous-than-me friends dressed in pj’s for a bedtime story show—an evening I’ll never forget.
But we can’t do anything like that this year. Instead, I’ll be sitting in front of my computer screen in my 10X10 office, nudging Faultland onto the stage and into the hands of readers. I have help though. The Ooligan team will facilitate the evening, and long-time friend and critique partner Monica Drake will be part of the festivities, initiating a conversation about the writing life (before, during, and after COVID), and we’ll wrap up the evening with a drawing for a deluxe emergency kit from Ready, Set Judy (anyone who signed up here is eligible to win).
So, maybe I’ll be able to pull it off after all. This letting go of Faultland, and wishing Olivia, Morgan and Sherman god speed as they leave my head and venture into the unknown. Because, after all, the unknown and the unknowable is why we do this in the first place, right?