It’s feels kind of perilous
to call a post
‘Who cares?’ because it begs an easy, flippant answer. (Skip to exciting news below if you don’t, actually, care.) Over the years, “who cares?” has become one of the most familiar refrains in my writing life, and I would guess, many if not all, writers’ lives. The tone is always the same—tediously grinding, persnickety; only the particulars change. The question is purely rhetorical because the voice always knows the answer.
Who cares if you are working on a novel? There are so many books.
Who cares if you wrote a book about your dead father? Tons of people have dead fathers.
Who cares if you broke your leg? That happens to everyone.
Who cares you have a new book coming out? No one reads anymore.
This week I’ve been a veritable story factory, churning out personal essays and pitches related to Brief Flashings in the Phenomenal World. You’d think writing a book would be enough and you wouldn’t have to create new content to publicize the book, but no. (See #4 above. Does anyone read books anymore?)
One of the loudest voices lately has been my publicist’s. Almost every day I get an email from her, asking me to write another article. I feel like I’m Rocky, in the movie, and she’s Mickey, and she’s barking, “Ten more push-ups, GO!” I’m in my sweats (this part’s true) and I’m so tired I can hardly see straight but she’s like OK, another set of stairs!, and because I am dutiful, mostly, and I believe in my book, I do what she says and am glad for her help.
I’m not writing this post to elicit concern or reassurance. (Who cares if you have the voice? Everyone does.) Everybody does have the voice, and that’s why I'm writing this. The voice is universal. And instructive. Beneath the obvious, snarky interpretation, who cares asks a deeper question. What it really means is, who are you creating for? Your audience? The market? Your readers? Yourself? The idea?
This is a valid question. The answer will and should change with the day, the project, the season, the year. Sometimes you have to finish a piece for a deadline. You have to make money. Legit. Other times, you have an idea that wants to come out. You didn’t invent the idea. You’re simply the carrier—the one who brings it into the world. Sometimes Mickey is bellowing at you from the ropes and you take another shot for the simple reason that he tells you to.
A few days ago I started doing something unusual, for me, and very much unplanned. I started making short videos and posting them. (Is this called vlogging?) If you’d have asked me ten minutes before if I would post videos on social media, I would have laughed out loud. But there I was, sitting on the couch in our living room, when all of a sudden, I just felt like it. I felt like recording a tiny visual diary about what it’s like for a former book publicist c. 1994 to promote her own book in 2024. (The answer is: karmically very odd.)
I had my 13-year-old take the video on my phone. It took us a few tries to get the angle right. At first, I could see her trying not to roll her eyes, but then she got into it. “Mom?” she asked, as in what are you doing? Is this really you? “I know,” I admitted, “it’s weird, but somehow it feels right.”
Still, I worried that I was setting a bad example. Neither she nor her sister are on social media (not entirely by choice). I try to model moderate behavior by not scrolling reels indiscriminately (though the skiing bloopers and dog videos are hard to resist). We talk about how important it is to be careful about what share of ourselves online.
Not once while we were making the video did I hear the voice. Then I posted it on social media and suddenly the voice got very loud.
Who cares about you sitting on the couch sending emails? Bor-ring.
It had a lot more to say, too. Oh, now you’re going to be one of THOSE people who makes videos and posts them trying to get likes? The light is all wrong and you look ancient. Next thing you know, you’ll be posting reels of your Labrador. (Guilty.)
The voice didn’t really bother me, though. I could laugh at myself, at how craven and corrupt I’d become, because I didn’t believe the voice. Making videos was fun and dumb and it felt good, even if I had no idea what it was for or if anyone would care.
Sometimes you have to do the thing before you know why you're doing it. Half the time I don’t know what I’m going to write until I start writing. I can tell I’m nosing around something, but it takes writing into the question to figure out what it is.
Here’s what I learned making that video: I cared.
That’s what matters. Not everyone will, but as long as we do, our offering is genuine. We make a sincere effort and send what we’ve made out into the world, regardless of who will be able or willing receive it.
After the first video, I made another, which I shot by myself with my phone propped up on a wobbly pillow. The angle was even worse, and I kept looking away like I was afraid to make eye contact with myself, or I was pretending to talk to someone else. Even so, it felt surprisingly natural. I had things to say, and I could say them in a slightly funnier and, yes, faster way than if I were writing them. (Uh oh, see #4 above).
Since then I’ve made videos while I’m out walking the dogs, running, and riding my bike, and I’m already thinking of more. The angle is still bad, the lighting is usually iffy, I haven’t brushed my hair, they’re still too long (sez the 13-year-old), and I still don’t know the difference between a reel and a story and post.
But who cares?
EXCITING NEWS you will definitely care about~~~~
River Flow Camp Special Guests
I’m thrilled to announce my longtime friend, the beloved writing and Zen teacher and bestselling author, Natalie Goldberg, will be joining us as a guest writing teacher at River Flow Camp, May 30—June 2, in Pecos New Mexico! Read more about this retreat on my website or check out Field Trip NM to reserve your spot today. Spaces are filling quickly and we will move to a waitlist when they do.
I couldn’t be more excited to share that Kelly Burns will guide us in daily yoga practice at River Flow Camp. I met Kelly last spring in Guatemala and felt an immediate kindred connection. Kelly is a wisdom teacher and a storyteller at heart, a book lover, equity ally, somatic coach, and a literary advocate, committed to lifelong learning and healing. Heads up, restless yogis: You will LOVE her deeply engaging practice! Kelly will also be joining us at Mountain Flow Camp, Sept 5-8. How lucky are we!
Last but definitely not least, the inimitable Jeff English will make a special (re)appearance to share his powerful tai chi tradition with us. If you attended Desert Flow Camp in 2022, you will remember Jeff’s intuitive teachings, aimed at helping us move with more ease and flow, and less resistance, in everything we do. This energy lives within us and around us all the time. Jeff will show us how to tap in!
Brief Flashings are all around us all the time, too— and coming to your local indie bookstore and everywhere on April 16, 2024! Pre-orders are a great way to ensure you’re the first on your block to get your copy.
Thanks for being here!
katie
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I, for one, love your couch videos. I feel like I'm sitting on the other side of the couch. And THIS: "I can tell I’m nosing around something, but it takes writing into the question to figure out what it is." I've been experiencing this with my daily Ode writing.
I go through this cycle with photography. I take pictures because I love the creative process, and I know I’m doing it for me, but then I feel the pull to share. I don’t share because they’re good, or because I’m trying to make a profession from it, but then again…”who cares.” I love reading stories about some famed photographer that passes, and they discovered full on archives of film never developed. Even the photographer never saw the photo become a print. They just shot photos to shoot photos. That helps remind me that the creative process can be just for yourself.