I have a new book arriving in two months and I am a bit of a mess about it. I despise self-promotion. I hate asking people to buy my words. And yet, I truly believe in the message of my new book and that means readers must buy it to read it….sooooo...Hi. Here's my new book. Wanna pre-order it? CLICK HERE. :)
You can also purchase my book by visiting one of these fine retailers:
And here's a little gift from my publisher: if you pre-order my book, I get to send you the complete first chapter NOW. Just email me your purchase confirmation number and I'll get it to you ASAP. Email me at: elizabeth at elizabeth esther dot com.
OK. Phew. That wasn't so bad.
And I mean, yes, I'm full of self-doubt but then I read something like this that I wrote in my new book and I feel just a wee bit better:
When someone tells me they love my writing I am always surprised. What?! Really?! But then again, you don’t see what I see: all the mistakes I made, all the ways I could have said it better. Truth: when I get a box full of the final copies of my book I don’t open the books because I know what I’ll see: how the reality of my art falls so short of how I imagined it.
But then I remember that saying it imperfectly is better than not saying it at all.
Still, my fears are loud and I've been doing a lot of nailbiting. I am a sensitive person with some obsessive tendencies and I can keep myself awake at night worrying about minutia. Sometimes I have to read my own words to remind myself what I believe.
“You are learning to feel your feelings without reacting to them,” my 12-step sponsor says to me. “Welcome to emotional sobriety.” She is right and I hate that. FEELINGS. They might be the death of me. “That’s a little dramatic,” my sponsor says. “You won’t die from your feelings. The bad feelings will pass, I promise.”
Yes, but WHEN?!
“Go take your dogs for a walk,” she says.
So, I do. And I notice the birds, the sky, the angle of winter sunshine through the trees. And it helps.
I remember that my worth isn't found in Facebook likes or 5-star reviews on Amazon. I've been down that road. And it didn't end well. In fact, I talk about that a lot in my new book:
My worth exists because I exist. I am so deeply loved. And so are you. And this, really, is the message of the book:
People say Southern California doesn’t have seasons but it’s not true. We have seasons, they’re just very subtle. You have to really look for the signs. Yesterday I noticed that my rose bushes were showing the tiniest signs of new life. Tiny, paper-thin leaves now adorn the stark, barren stems. It isn’t much. But it is something. And I felt the usual thrill. I so love my roses. If I could, I’d wear them in my hair everyday and fill my home with overflowing vases of roses, roses, roses.
There’s another sign, too. The Mourning Doves have returned to my garden. It must be mating season. They don’t eat from the bird feeder so I sprinkle seed along the ground and fill the bird bath with water. They are quite shy. So I must wait quietly. They come tentatively, gently. Perhaps I shall see their babies this spring.
Art teaches me to let the seasons change.
What I write now is different than what I wrote five or ten years ago. And what I say in five or ten years will be different than what I’m writing now. Perfectionism will kill me, if I let it. I need to give myself permission to be in process.
My new book is the very best of 2015 EE. And I think you may find it helpful. I hope you’ll read it. And maybe even consider pre-ordering it? Thank you. So much. XO. EE.