An Inner “Calling” or Sadistic Self-Publishing?

I’ve never thought of myself as the type person who likes to inflict harm on others or myself, but through the self-publishing of my memoir, I’ve often found myself wondering “Why in the hell am I doing this?” And every time this thought occurs, a little voice inside me says, “Don’t think. Just do as I say.” Maybe I should be concerned with this little internal guide that leads me when I let it? – For those of you who may be starting to wonder…technically, I’m sane although that could be debated at the moment – Truth be told, I’ve always considered myself an “open book” type of person. I freely share the good and the bad. Sadly, I’m often more comfortable sharing the bad, but I blame this self-depreciating quality on my family who, whether or not they are aware, despise arrogant, self-promoting types.

The idea of a memoir hinges on crazy, I know. Throw on top of that a self-published memoir and the word sadistic comes to mind. In essence, I’m sharing the good, bad and ugly with friends, family and dreaded frenemies. What is the point really? Everything you read tells you self-publishing is hard, don’t expect to make money, success rate is low, and getting my mind around the thought of self-promotion makes my stomach turn (thanks again family!). In hindsight, I realized to quell this little voice I should have written the book and tried to go through a traditional publisher where there is a .2% probability that your book will get published. I could have completed my mission (wrote my memoir), try to get it published and in the likely chance I fall into that 99.8% of writers who are passed over, accept my fate and tell that little voice to stick it! I could have then saved the manuscript for my children so they know their family history, which was how the whole ridiculous idea came to fruition. But now I’m past the point of no return and too stubborn to change my mind.

The initial process was quite benign and started during my brief time living in Massachusetts. I had uprooted my life in Hawaii and placed myself in the middle of a forest — alone — literally and figuratively. My therapy was writing. I spent months compiling my writings, journal entries from years past, emails and memories in an attempt to make sense of them. I could have stopped there but common sense left the premises once again and the book continued to write itself as I ventured into new territory living outside of the United States. After that, I had the bright idea to hire an editor. Can you see the direction I’m heading here? The little voice was winning over common sense (bastard!). But why all the fuss and emotional turmoil, you say? Well, I’m not only exposing my deep and darkest secrets but the personal life of those around me, namely my husband who is probably the most emotionally closed (to the general public) person I know. He doesn’t air dirty laundry, share his personal life, struggles or even accomplishments for that matter. Despite it all, he has a penchant for supporting my dreams … just as I do his.

In the end, I hope the sharing of my story will inspire those who read it to take a chance and follow those little voices that tell you to stop listening to your head and see where your heart leads you. And when you do, I hope it takes you on some fabulous journeys. Struggling Vines: A Soul-Crushing Journey to Love. A Memoir