Hello friend, Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve given eleven livestreamed interviews and three or four (or was it five?) podcast interviews. I’ve been on TV twice, done two in-person signing events and have two more coming this weekend. And my book has only been out for nine days. A launch is an exercise in stamina, and this one is hitting me pretty differently at 47 than it did when I wrote my last book as a wee lass of 34. Other things have changed since then, too; namely, how much I find myself leaning on the generosity of other writers and creators to help me get the word out. Between 2007-2011, when I wrote my other books, publicity looked pretty different. It was more about trying to hit up the big outlets and hoping you landed appearances on the Today show or Good Morning America; maybe an op-ed in the New York Times. Today, in the age of social media, podcasts, and Substack, publishers expect authors to lean much more heavily on our personal networks to spread the word. It’s wonderful that so many of my friends have bona fide mini-media-empires of their own, but it’s also a little wearying to have to work my way around my circle of friends, friendlies, and not-exactly-friends-but-we-met-at-a-conference-one-time acquaintances, hoping they’ll have interest in my book and time to read and share it. But over and over again, I’ve been blown away by the generosity I’ve encountered. Starting with Gretchen Rubin, KJ Dell'Antonia, Mary Laura Philpott, Ashlee Gadd and Sarah Powers, who all agreed to “blurb” (provide advance praise) for my book, even though four of the five of them do not also own a business with me (in fact, Mary Laura didn’t know me at all.) Christine Koh and Laura Vanderkam were among the first to offer to interview me for their podcasts. Fellow West Michigan author (and Jenna’s-Book-Club novelist) Bonnie Jo Campbell sent me the most gracious and encouraging email offering to connect me to bookstore owners in her area. And eleven Substackers agreed to interview me LIVE on release day (all the recordings are linked up in this post.) When I say that these acts were generous, I don’t only mean the generosity of another creator offering me access to their audience or knowledge. Of course that is generous, but that’s also the way this business works - we swap promo for content and contact for contact; in many ways these exchanges are reciprocal. But in this experience, the generosity ran deeper than the simple exchange of value. I’ve come away with the feeling that people really showed up for me and this book - not just by doing the expected I’ll-scratch-your-back-you-scratch-mine stuff, but by putting all their attention into our live conversations (not a single phoned-in interview in the lot), by cheering my launch on social and at in-person events, by reading my words with a generosity of spirit, and by continuing to go above and beyond in sharing it after our scheduled interviews were over (I mean, just look at the display of writerly generosity in this lovely post by Asha Dornfest:) I’ve had a lot of conversations recently with other friends (both writers and non-writers) that seem to always, in some way, circle back around to generosity: how good it feels to be generous, and yet how difficult it can feel to make space for generosity when we all feel busy and overstretched in a world where there is both so much need and so much distraction. How hard it is sometimes to tell the difference between genuine generosity, the kind that pours out of the overflow, and the kind of giving where we just drain ourselves dry in order to feel more worthy or “good.” After feeling so inspired by the outpouring of generosity I’ve received, I have been reflecting on this for the last few days. A few ideas have come to mind: 1. It helps to make time and space for generosity. I like to think of myself as a generous person, but my best intentions can get the best of me. When I feel too busy or strapped for time, those generous acts I really want to make time for tend to slip through my fingers. I think somewhere in my subconscious I’ve held on to a belief that if generosity is scheduled or planned, that it somehow doesn’t “count” - that “true” generosity bubbles up spontaneously when a need arises. But for me, that kind of attitude just leaves a lot of good intentions unfulfilled, because when the urge strikes me to be generous, I am not always in a position to act on that urge. And by the time I can do something for the person I want to help, I’ve often gotten caught up in the next thing on my list, or I’ve literally forgotten. So the other day I thought: I wonder what it would look like if I actually set aside a chunk of time each week specifically to do things for others? Whether a small, simple thing, like sharing my writer friends’ work online - or something more resource-consuming, like volunteering time or donating money to a local nonprofit, what if I had a specific “container” for generous activity set aside on my calendar? I still won’t ever be able to do all the generous things I wish I could do, and I’ll probably miss opportunities here and there. But by approaching a block of time with that singularity of purpose, I am much more likely to not only actually remember to get those things done but to approach requests with a spirit of abundance, rather than the “I’d like to help, but where will I find the time?” feeling I’m prone to getting right now when faced with a need. Because I’ll already have time set aside, so it’ll just be a matter of filling it up. I’m thinking I’m going to make Wednesday afternoons that block of time for myself. Generous Wednesday has a nice ring to it, yes? 2. It can actually be generous to say “no.” Over the past few months I’ve done a lot - I mean, a lot - of outreach for my book, and as part of that, I’ve asked for a lot of favors: for blurbs, for reviews, for shares, for introductions, for access. And while I know that emails do slip through the cracks and certainly don’t blame anyone for a non-response (I know I’ve done this to others plenty of times myself) I have to say that I have a certain appreciation for a quick and definitive, “I’m sorry, but I just can’t.” Yes, the initial moment of rejection stings a bit, especially if it’s a person I really hoped would be interested in my book, but it’s better than following up into the void or vague suggestions of interest that never go anywhere…or worse big promises that disappear in a puff of smoke, as Amie McNee describes in this recent post: Everyone is telling everyone else how supportive they are of each other. Thy’re going to connect you, platform you, promote you, hire you. 99% of it never materialises. I have to admit that I felt both taken aback and extremely fortunate while reading her post, because while I’m not going to say I’ve never been let down, I have not experienced this en masse. It’s made me so grateful for the generosity folks have shown me, for the most part, in honestly summing up their own capacity and declining (or even just backing out with notice) when they can’t do something. I’m not sure I’m always as honest with myself and clear with others in this regard as I could be, so it’s also strengthened my resolve to show the same kind of generosity to others…even when that means saying “I’m so sorry, but I can’t.” 3. We can’t be generous to everyone at all times. These days we are so connected, aware of so much need, and often trying to please so many people at once (my personal Kryptonite.) I am so guilty of tying myself in knots to try to “be generous”, often offering more and more to people who aren’t even all that interested in what I have to give. But there will always, always be more demands on our time and attention than we can deliver on; there will always, always be more people we could give of ourselves to. So how do I balance my desire to give with my capacity, both as a human being and as a creative? I think the answer begins with simply trying to do less, but do it better. We live in a growth-oriented culture that glorifies “scale” and “optimization”, but reaching more and more people doesn’t actually do more good if it means spreading ourselves too thinly in the interim, running out of steam or burning out entirely. This is something I will be continuing to think about as I process my book launch experience, but in the meantime, I’d love to hear from you: What are some ways you’ve experienced generosity lately? What are ways you aim to show generosity to others? Speaking of generosity: I’ve been so grateful to those of you who’ve generously supported my work as paid subscribers, even as I’ve been so head-down in book writing and promotion that I haven’t offered you much value in return. In the spirit of reciprocity, I’m working on ways to right that imbalance now. My first step will be putting these monthly Journal episodes and posts behind the Substack paywall starting on June 1, as a special way to acknowledge paid subscribers. If you aren’t currently a paid member of The Kettle and enjoy these monthly reflections, you’ll want to upgrade your subscription now. I’m offering a deep discount through June 5: annual memberships are just $30/year, less than $3/mo! And if you'd like to hear some more of my reflections on generosity and how I intend to use this space to give back to my audience, listen to the podcast episode linked in this newsletter. In it, I share some specific ways I’ll be narrowing my focus so that I can create a better experience here for the people who’ve so generously supported my work with their dollars, as well as those who would like to going forward. If you’re interested a deeper connection with my content and the community we’re building here, now is a great time to u
