What I Gleaned about Motherhood from Launching My Book

My book (The Working Homemaker)

has been out for two months now. Some have compared the writing process to a pregnancy, with the finishing of the project being the “birth.” I too have been thinking lately though about how that now the book is out in the world, living its own little life, there are plenty of ways it reminds me of motherhood and the things that are at work when raising children. While you may or may not relate to the writing a book part, you mamas out there will probably resonate with the rest.

As an English teacher, I love a good analogy, and to make this one work, I suppose my book launch date could be compared to a baby’s due date. None of my babies showed up on the date the doctor predicted. It seems rather rare that babies ever do. And though I knew not to put too much stock in the date the doctor predicted, each pregnancy I still dutifully wrote it on the calendar and recited it to countless people who asked. My book’s release date was far more nebulous. The publisher said it was getting close but wouldn’t ever give me a definitive date. In fact, I didn’t find out it has been released until it had already been available on Amazon for a day or two. If I was a big author, I’m sure the launch date would have been more of a thing, but as a new author working with a good but not elite publishing house, the actual release kind of came and went without much ado. I listened to a podcast talking about the importance of the launch date, not doing it at certain busy times of the year or certain busy times of the week (like the weekend.) The host said scary things like, “You only release your first book once,” making me a little timid about doing it wrong and then spending the rest of my life regretting it.

But even though the technical release of my book was September 30, a day that passed without my even knowing it had been released, once I announced its release and people starting ordering, it was launched nonetheless. This hype surrounding a launch date rather reminds me of the pressure we can feel as moms to get things perfect regarding one specific moment in time. Maybe it’s the birth itself, but it’s more likely to be a milestone event like a birthday, baptism or communion, sporting or performance event, or any myriad of other things. Even the pressure to do the holidays right can feel like we have only one day or one short season to make things perfect.

What has been so affirming about releasing The Working Homemaker is that it has been a series of small celebrations and encouragements. Some posted about it online, others sent me encouraging texts, and a sweet student brought me flowers to class to say congratulations.

My parents visited, armed with a cheese and cracker platter and champagne, and family and friends showed up for my launch/signing event at the coffee shop. A few podcast hosts welcomed me on their show and others booked me for the upcoming months.  Several shops put my book on their shelf to sell.

And these little incremental celebrations remind me of the value of community. None of us can be everything for others, but we all show love at different times in different ways.

And also in motherhood, isn’t it the unexpected moments, the days that were never scheduled on the calendar, that end up being the most precious? It’s the impromptu dance party, the spur of the moment day trip, or the unexpected conversation around the table while sipping something warm together that becomes a precious memory. Regardless of whether we get that perfect family picture for a holiday card/newsletter or make the perfect dinner like the image on the front of the magazine cover, we’re homemaking just the same.

All the little celebrations surrounding my book reminds me of the delight of making life a special occasion. If there is one thing that children are good at, it’s making the little moments momentous. Therefore, it’s especially fitting when we make things special for them on purpose. We don’t have to spend lots of money, but getting out the fancy dishes sitting in the cupboard doesn’t cost anything but the extra time it takes to wash them. Decorating for minor holidays and seasons doesn’t have to be extravagant, but the sheer joy on their faces when we let them tape their homemade placards to the sliding glass door or strew the treasures they found in nature on the mantle make it all worth it. Life is worth celebrating in its little and big events. One single moment can never live up to the hype, but the minutia along the way has a grandeur all its own if we pause to see it.

A friend of mine wisely reminded me that even after my book came out, despite how well or poorly the launch went, it could be found years later, at just the right place and time, for some reader. I constantly discover books that have been on the market a decade or longer but that I just found. I like the idea of someone discovering my book long after the buzz that I’m trying to drum up has subsided. Maybe a friend will recommend it, maybe they will stumble across it as they browse online, or maybe they will meander through a bookstore or library, and the cover will catch their eye.

I am currently (and always) nursing a stack of books on my nightstand, and another on a different table nearby, where my books rest and make friends with each other. Many of them are mostly read; a few of them still haven’t been cracked open yet, and a couple are finished but I am not quite ready to part with them yet, as putting them on the bookshelf feels like such a formal conclusion.

And I love the idea of my book sitting on someone’s bedside. She may have intentions to get to it that go unmet for a while. She may start and stop and repeat the process as she has time.

When I think about my book in this sense, as a faithful friend, ready to be read or patiently bide her time, it seems so silly to have ever worried about a launch date.

I’m so grateful the Lord doesn’t see me as something to be quickly launched and then moved on from. These days I see my walk with Jesus (as well as my children’s walk with Him) as something that occurs slowly and steadily through faithfulness. We are justified as soon as we believe, but sanctification takes a lifetime.

As 1 Timothy 4:15 reminds us, “Practice these things, immerse yourself in them, so that all may see your progress.”

Practice as a means of leading to progress is probably the best way to think about our relationship with our children as well. Discipleship takes time. We can’t magically (or miraculously) form our children into good people by having one good chat or giving them one stern consequence. We walk beside them as they grow, offering daily direction and redirection.

If we want to do something well, it often means we must be willing to do it slowly. I’ve had an audiobook in the works for a while now. I recorded most of it over the summer and had to do a little rerecording this fall. I was finally able to send all the files to the publisher only to hear back that there are some setting issues regarding sound levels that still need tweaked. It’s been tempting to just want to rush through and have the thing done with. I had such high hopes of having the audiobook available during the holidays as people travel. But once it is released, it’s out there. I know in the long run I would prefer to have a quality product that people will, hopefully, enjoy listening to rather than a subpar one I rushed just to meet an arbitrary, self-enforced deadline. In the same way, with our kids, when we embrace patience in parenting them the effective way rather than the quick way, we are building the strong foundation rather than the speedy but faulty one.

In case you’re worried I’m taking my analogy a bit far, no I don’t see my book as my 5^th child. But thinking about my anticipation of it during the writing stage and now my desire to see it do well in the world does remind me of the way I mother my children. I’ll end with the poem “The Author to Her Book” from Anne Bradstreet (the first American poet and one of the first female poets in English literature.) She calls her book “my rambling brat in print.” So far, mine has been a little better behaved.