Notes from Maine - 2023/07/23

Migrators was my first book where I received a physical copy. I wrote a note to my mom and sent the book off to her. She was the person who started me down the path of writing. I used to make up stories, and I even wrote a couple down, but I never really contemplated writing an entire novel. Then, she sent me a copy of King’s On Writing with a note that said, “I think you could do this.” 

I read his book and realized that I pretty much had to follow his instructions and write a book. Telling myself stories over and over was becoming cumbersome. I had to write them down just so I could get them out of my head and be free to come up with new stories. It turned out that writing was the key to making me feel like I had some control over my imagination.

So I wrote all that on the title page of Migrators and dropped it in the mail to Mom. 

Of course she read it, treasured it and kept it forever. 

Ha.

Because of her eyes (or something), she said she couldn’t read it. And I’m sure she kept it for some amount of time. But Mom is very much an anti-hoarder. She doesn’t like to have a bunch of “stuff” weighing her down.

A couple of weeks ago I received a lovely email from a stranger that read, “I came across your book in one of those free little libraries around DC and when I opened it, there is a note to your mom. It’s your first copy ever! It’s still in great shape. I just wanted to see if you wanted me to mail this to you? I know this is a bit random lol just wanted to see if you wanted it back before I dive in.”

At least Migrators found its way into the hands of a kind person. They offered to send it back in case I was sentimental about it. I’m not. Clearly, Mom isn’t sentimental about it either! After all, there’s nothing special about that copy. I can sign and send a dozen to her if she wants. In fact, when I told her about it, she sent me a picture of all the books that she still has on her shelf. At some point she must have decided to start collecting them. 

I really enjoyed writing Migrators. It has some fun twists and it takes place at my grandparents’ house. I can still picture most of those scenes very clearly. My father’s neighbor read that book—he stopped me one time to tell me how much he enjoyed it. His close friend was one of the characters in it, and he recognized the fictional version of his friend immediately.

I whispered to the neighbor, “You didn’t tell Buster that he’s in the book, did you?”

His eyes went wide. “Oh, no. Of course not.”

Instead of having that story and those characters floating around in my head, I got to put them down on paper. Other people had the chance to (hopefully) enjoy them as well. That’s a gift that Mom gave me. She nudged me towards a future where I could envision myself as a writer. I was the first character that I created, but I didn’t do it alone.

My friend Emilio was the first person I asked to read one of my books. He’s smart and honest, and I believed him when he told me that it was decent. I’m not completely sure of how he worded his review, but it was something akin to, “It’s not as bad as some of the other stuff out there.”

Writing still excites me. It still makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something. I used to sell mostly eBooks, which are pretty much guaranteed to only be read by one person. But lately I’ve sold more paperbacks than eBooks, at least revenue wise. Despite the fact that it means more paper out there in the world, it makes me happy to think of physical copies of my books that can be handed around and shared. 

When I replied to the person who found Mom’s copy of Migrators, I told them to read it and then keep it or pass it along. I cleared all this with Mom first, of course. She said it was okay. If she wants another one, I have one waiting here for her next visit.

I’ll bring some paperback books to the Maine Author Fair in a couple of weeks. Maybe some of those will find a good home. I really hope so.