If someone had told me in 1985, when I first conceived, that I would be pregnant for 15 years, I probably would have choked. As it was, there were no postcards from God explaining that birth wouldn't come until the year 2000. As a result, I went through many false labors, pushing when it felt like time to push, only to discover — again and again — that it simply wasn't time yet. Even now, as I write this essay weeks before the May issue of The New Times is published, I still don't know if my baby will be born in May as planned. You see, I'm talking about a book baby, not a human one, and book babies don't have predictable gestation periods. In fact, book babies don't seem to be predictable at all.
For one thing, there are too many players in the game to allow for predictability, even when the book is being independently published, as is the case with Dr. Cat's Helping Handbook. Aside from the burden of responsibility, which is solely my own, it often feels like there is nothing very independent about independent publishing.
Many times during the production of this book, I've wished fervently that I could operate independently and do all the work myself (the typical lament of a recovering control freak). However, I can't do all the production work, because I do all my writing on a magnificent 25-year-old IBM Selectric II, and I do all my design work by hand, using paper and pens and old-style cut-and-paste methods. Therefore, I must hire others to translate my efforts into digital form.
I know how to use computers, but they suck my soul out and drain the blood from my body, so I stay away from them as much as possible. Fortunately, there are people who love computers. Unfortunately, these people cost me a lot of money. For example, when I did my 1999 taxes and added up all the book production expenses, the total came to more than $9,000! That figure didn't include expenses from previous years, either, nor did it include this year's costs for printing, marketing, and fulfillment, which will easily exceed $15,000.
This kind of money might not be a big deal for some people, but it's definitely a big deal for me, especially when you consider the fact that I've only recently been able to resume my counseling practice after a two-year hiatus brought on by health challenges. Just when I've needed more income to cover huge book expenses, my income has been, shall we say, less than stellar.
At some point, I realized that this lack of income was also part of the plan. After all, if I had unlimited resources to publish my book, I wouldn't have had to grow past so many of my internal limits. For one thing, independent publishing eventually required me to walk through the one door that I had avoided like the plague: the door of credit card financing.
While I was busy kicking and screaming about having to take on debt to publish the book, my spiritual teachers were busy trying to show me that I had to take this financial risk in order to be liberated around money. They knew that credit card debt would wreak havoc with my addiction to control, and that it would force me to surrender my pride. Busted again!
Writing about this publicly is part of my commitment to blast these old patterns and heal another chunk of shame about money. In addition, I write about the financial realities of independent publishing so people know what's really involved. First-time authors who publish their books are lucky just to break even. As for me, independent publishing is simply part of my spiritual work. If it weren't, I sure as hell wouldn't have chosen this path.
Because I've written about the incredible expense of self-publishing, some people have wondered why I didn't get a publisher (I did — and then chose not to go that route, for many reasons). Other people have suggested that I should lower my standards and produce a cheap version of the book: printed on a copy machine, spiral-bound, and out the door in no time.
I suppose that would be okay if I thought books were just information delivery systems. But I think books should also be works of art that delight the eye, give pleasure to the touch, and invite the inquisitive mind to explore their literary depths — the way a Japanese garden beckons you to follow the twists and turns of its path ever deeper into the contemplation of nature.
Aesthetics aren't superfluous to me. Frankly, I think good form is good function, a fact that nature proves again and again in countless ways. If a book is well designed, it will not only please the senses; it will also make the material easier to read and digest.
Consider one small aspect of book text design, namely, the font (type style and size). Because my doctoral dissertation focused on the overlap between psychology and functional neurology, I'm keenly aware of the brain's constant efforts to make sense of all the information it receives via the eyes. This includes the special challenges posed by reading.
For those of us with various degrees of brain hurt — whether from head injuries, emotional trauma or neglect, or bacterial and viral harm — reading can be problematic or downright difficult. Because of my personal and professional experience with this issue, I was relentless in my search for exactly the right font, along with the perfect leading (the space between the lines), that would make Dr. Cat's Helping Handbook easy on the eyes. Months of computer hassles unfolded in relation to this font process, but it was all worth it, because when the font was finally right, my eyes could fly over the words with the ease of a bird in flight.
What's funny about this — and all the other design challenges I encountered — is that Dr. Cat's Helping Handbook definitely has a will of its own. It has known from the beginning what it wanted, in terms of its cover and text design, and it wouldn't let me go until I got it right. Because books can't talk, it had to use a variety of creative and sometimes obnoxious forms of communication to let me know what it wanted. These methods included computer crashes, endless delays, and an uncanny ability to bring up people's stuff (including mine, even after 15 years of working on it).
What's even funnier is that the book often communicated via the subject matter of whatever chapter was in progress during a computer crash, timing delay, or personal drama. Over the course of many years with several different helpers, I watched this phenomenon play out repeatedly. Since most of my helpers were also good friends, I was often privy to what was happening in their personal lives. One of them might casually mention that a particular problem was occurring in her life. I'd say, "By any chance, are you working on such-and-such chapter?" and she'd say, "How'd you know?"
One time, my helpers and I were all feeling rather frustrated with the book and each other. In the midst of this, the computer files were crashing so repeatedly that my helpers had to buy a piece of software called a conflict catcher to remedy the situation. That cracked me up.
After installing the conflict catcher, things worked better again until the book wanted to communicate its next requirement, namely, that it wanted a new set of helpers for the final stage of production. Believe me, I wish the book could have just told me this the way you'd tell me what time it is, but again, since books can't talk, it got my attention by bringing up everyone's stuff in a very big way — so big, in fact, that my previous team and I stopped working on the book together.
After the smoke cleared and the fires died down, I saw that the tumultuous events that had transpired during that period were simply another inelegant but effective communication from the book that it was time for a change.
I can report this calmly now that my new team is in place, but I was plenty upset during the intensity, because the timing was horrible: I lost my previous helpers just before it was time to go to press, just when I needed their technical expertise to deal with the printer. I felt like a woman in labor who opens her eyes in the middle of a violent contraction and discovers that her midwife and her breathing partner have gone to play golf.
Fortunately, I know enough to reach out when I need help. When I realized what was happening, I called trusted friends and colleagues and asked if they knew anyone who could take over at such a crucial stage in book production. They offered several good leads, but nothing resonated until one of my best buddies suggested a particular New Times advertiser whose company name had special meaning for me.
When I called this woman, I found out that she not only had exactly the computer equipment, software, and skills that I needed to complete my design work, but she was also a proofreader. This meant that she could make the final text changes to the digital files, now that my previous helper was off the job. In other words, she was a one-stop shop: I got a designer and a computer helper all in one person.
As if this wasn't enough of a good deal, I also discovered that she — like me — is a shamanic practitioner and a Reiki Master, and that she has a special interest in death work. When she found out that I'd written a series on death for The New Times, she went to my Web site and started reading. She said she got goose bumps when she read the first essay about my death timing, and that she couldn't wait to read all 13 installments.
In the past, I would often experience a high whenever I made a new connection of this caliber. However, one thing I like about my relationship with this delightful woman is that it feels very solid and quiet, like an old cedar growing on the side of a mountain.
Only time will tell what will happen for me and the book, but I finally feel like the right helper is in place to bring this wild adventure to completion. Let me tell you, after 15 years of pregnancy, I'm ready to deliver!
Cat Saunders, Ph.D. is the author of Dr. Cat's Helping Handbook ($22.95, 336 pages). Copies are available through your local bookstore, online at http://www.drcat.org/, or by check/money order to Heartwings Foundation, c/o PCFS, 250 Huron Avenue, Port Huron, MI 48060. Please include $3.95 S&H for first book/$1.50 each additional book (Washington residents add 8.6% sales tax/overseas $7 S&H per book).
