A few weeks ago I had my author photo redone. Some time before that, ECW had sent me an email asking for an author photo to use in promotion and/or on the book jacket (!!!! Book jacket! My book jacket! Holy smokes, it's actually a Real Thing!), and I'd spent a few days going through self portraits that I'd taken over time. It rather quickly became obvious that none of them were really what I wanted on the back of that book -- even though one of them ended up being the photo that TLA used on their website.
This was further solidified when I sent a few shots to a friend and asked him what he thought re: their book cover potential. He oh-so-diplomatically wrote back and said, I'd be happy to take new ones for you. Heh. Strike one for Amanda and her somewhat photography skillz.
Anyway, after a delightful photo session in which I spent an awful lot of time squinting into the sun (I appear to be developing vampire-ish tendencies, it would seem), we got some fairly decent shots. And after some hemming and hawwing and further whittling down of the list, I found my author photo.
Author. Photo. I know it doesn't seem like a big deal, but yesterday I sent it off to ECW and thought, I've wanted my photo on the back of a book since I was five years old.
I really like this photo. I really like it. And yet I can't help but giggle from time to time when I see it, either. It looks like me, I think. And yet not like me at all.
That girl in the photo--she knows what she's doing in life. She looks like a Real Writer! I bet she spends her days writing serenely in a little office, and when she isn't writing she's having engaging, wise conversations with her friends, or reading heavy-duty philosophy books (and not, say, the Sookie Stackhouse novels), and all of her books come together in a flow of inspiration and ink and, well, she just knows. She has that Wise Adult look on her face. She looks so together.
She most assuredly does not, for example, spend her writing time in her pyjamas, drinking tea and playing Words With Friends on her phone when she could be freewriting, or freelancing, or figuring out what the hell is supposed to happen in the next novel. She does not suffer crippling attacks of anxiety in the middle of the night. She doesn't walk down the street and think: what if the novel doesn't go anywhere? What then? What if all of this time and energy spent on this one thing means that I can't actually do anything else? What if I'm too attached to italics? Does that make me a bad person? What?
Funny, isn't it, how we can be one thing and yet another all at once. How we can show one face to the world and yet at the same time be made up of a million other faces, hold a million other insecurities, be a million other shades of complex. Funny how a simple little author photo gets one thinking so many little questions.
When I was five years old I probably thought that I would be together when that photo was finally taken and placed on the back of that book. When I was five years old, publication was the absolute pinnacle of existence. And now I find myself staring up at the heavens much like Emily Starr, sitting on the grass with her first novel "spleet-new" in her hands. Ahead, the rosy peaks of the Alpine Path. So many more mountains to climb. So many more challenges to face.
Sometimes it's nice, though, to stop and bask in that feeling for a while. The "Who knew, but you've arrived" feeling. The "You can be silly and insecure and worried about how far your skills will go, and still know a thing or two" feeling. You can look together and be together and still not know how any of it's going to turn out. That feeling.
It's a lot of philosophizing for one little photo. I know. But every time I reach a point like this, I find myself thinking back to the writer that I was a year ago, two years ago, five years ago, and from there to all of the writers that I know, all of the writers who are young right now and want this thing so badly and dream, just as I did, that everything will be okay -- that life will all make sense! -- when that book finally comes out.
Some of it will make sense. Some of it will be wonderful. And some of it will just make you laugh, and think, how the heck did I ever arrive in the first place?
This was further solidified when I sent a few shots to a friend and asked him what he thought re: their book cover potential. He oh-so-diplomatically wrote back and said, I'd be happy to take new ones for you. Heh. Strike one for Amanda and her somewhat photography skillz.
Anyway, after a delightful photo session in which I spent an awful lot of time squinting into the sun (I appear to be developing vampire-ish tendencies, it would seem), we got some fairly decent shots. And after some hemming and hawwing and further whittling down of the list, I found my author photo.
Author. Photo. I know it doesn't seem like a big deal, but yesterday I sent it off to ECW and thought, I've wanted my photo on the back of a book since I was five years old.
I really like this photo. I really like it. And yet I can't help but giggle from time to time when I see it, either. It looks like me, I think. And yet not like me at all.
That girl in the photo--she knows what she's doing in life. She looks like a Real Writer! I bet she spends her days writing serenely in a little office, and when she isn't writing she's having engaging, wise conversations with her friends, or reading heavy-duty philosophy books (and not, say, the Sookie Stackhouse novels), and all of her books come together in a flow of inspiration and ink and, well, she just knows. She has that Wise Adult look on her face. She looks so together.
She most assuredly does not, for example, spend her writing time in her pyjamas, drinking tea and playing Words With Friends on her phone when she could be freewriting, or freelancing, or figuring out what the hell is supposed to happen in the next novel. She does not suffer crippling attacks of anxiety in the middle of the night. She doesn't walk down the street and think: what if the novel doesn't go anywhere? What then? What if all of this time and energy spent on this one thing means that I can't actually do anything else? What if I'm too attached to italics? Does that make me a bad person? What?
Funny, isn't it, how we can be one thing and yet another all at once. How we can show one face to the world and yet at the same time be made up of a million other faces, hold a million other insecurities, be a million other shades of complex. Funny how a simple little author photo gets one thinking so many little questions.
When I was five years old I probably thought that I would be together when that photo was finally taken and placed on the back of that book. When I was five years old, publication was the absolute pinnacle of existence. And now I find myself staring up at the heavens much like Emily Starr, sitting on the grass with her first novel "spleet-new" in her hands. Ahead, the rosy peaks of the Alpine Path. So many more mountains to climb. So many more challenges to face.
Sometimes it's nice, though, to stop and bask in that feeling for a while. The "Who knew, but you've arrived" feeling. The "You can be silly and insecure and worried about how far your skills will go, and still know a thing or two" feeling. You can look together and be together and still not know how any of it's going to turn out. That feeling.
It's a lot of philosophizing for one little photo. I know. But every time I reach a point like this, I find myself thinking back to the writer that I was a year ago, two years ago, five years ago, and from there to all of the writers that I know, all of the writers who are young right now and want this thing so badly and dream, just as I did, that everything will be okay -- that life will all make sense! -- when that book finally comes out.
Some of it will make sense. Some of it will be wonderful. And some of it will just make you laugh, and think, how the heck did I ever arrive in the first place?
You look beautiful. I love it!
ReplyDeleteThere's so much you said in this post that makes me feel frustrated that I have to email you what I want to enthusiastically TELL you in person. I don't want to email. I want to converse!
PS. You have a very...KNOWING look in that photo. It's a really engaging, almost intense expression you have on.
ReplyDeleteThanks Steph! The knowing look is exactly what makes me laugh. Since when do I know anything? ;)
Deletexoxo
It's a great photo of you. I can't wait to see it on your book!
ReplyDeleteAw, thanks Pamela. :) I'm looking forward to seeing it on that book too.
Deletexoxo