Questionable Equality

On the frustrating reality of delays in publishing and not earning a much needed paycheck

A Behind the Scenes post on the publishing process, delay’s, how Oprah will not be calling and the challenge of “having it all,” as a woman.

The last post I wrote about the journey to publication of my first memoir, Blackbird, was back in late November; The Gift, detailed the sudden and surprising arrival of a literary agent who assigned herself to the job of representing me. What a strange world, this publishing business, I thought at the time. But I had been raised in a world of weirdness and so found myself bobbing downstream with A-Ma as the captain of Team Blackbird.

First order of business for the team…delay the publication. The reason was to keep building industry buzz. 🐝🐝🐝

I cannot remember who made the call…the publisher? Kim? A-Ma? I do remember losing my sh$% about it because a delay of release meant a delay of a paycheck. I had been paid but in portions. A check on signing, a check when I turned in an approved manuscript, and a check on release of the book.

Poor Kim, my editor at Pocket, had to talk me off this ledge with her usual reasoned calm, saying things like. “It is for the best.” And, “You’ll see.” And, “Hang in there.” And, “Keep working on that sequel.”

Kim had no idea that my earning grace period was running out. Steve once more tapped his foot and dredged out his old trope about how hard he was working to “turn the wheel” which meant getting money into the bank.

Being a Woman in a Man’s World

A wonderful book that I highly recommend is called A Brief History of Everything by Ken Wilber. It lays out, pretty simply, exactly when and how women were tossed into the deep trench of servitude and ridiculous expectations.

It all seemed to start (according to Wilber) when the hoe was replaced by the riding horse-drawn (or ox-drawn or mule-drawn) plow. Prior to this advance, women and men worked side by side in the fields and split the powerful duty of producing food. At this time, Goddess culture flourished, too.

But then, with the seated plow, women were jostled around to the point that their pregnancies failed or were put at high risk. Women began staying in the house, or close to the house, tending their gardens, cooking for the family, and it was their responsibility to raise the children, too. In the midst of all this, they became “the fairer” sex. And men became the sole providers of food.

Goddess culture slipped away and we now had a Man-God. The Father.

Once food production was mechanized, men were free to become writers, scientists, doctors, and makers of machines of destruction. Women, on the other hand, couldn’t mechanize child-rearing. It took the time it took.

Fast forward hundreds of years, and here we are today: The glorious age of equality. The age of enlightened feminism. Today, a woman is finally permitted to do “men’s work.” She can plow. She can write. She can be a doctor. She can run for higher office. She can be a lawyer. She can be a judge. She can be an astronaut. She can be a soldier. While she is still paid .75 cents to a man’s dollar, she does get paid. And, delight of delight, all the same domestic tasks still fall on her shoulders.

Even the most wonderful man, the one who does a great deal around the house and shares domestic responsibilities, might notice that his woman is mightily overwhelmed with “do-it-all” anxiety. This is because, thanks to history, so many women expect themselves to “do-it-all.” It’s the legacy we’ve inherited. We have to be a woman and a man. We have to be everything to everyone, too. We have to have super powers. We have to be saints.

Doing it All

I was one of those women—for lots of reasons that have nothing to do with the history of being removed from food production—and I was freaking out.

To cope, I didn’t complain or refer to the history of inequality or talk about the overburdened-mother-wife-partner issue. Instead, I threw myself at motherhood, meal making, house cleaning, yard work, bill management, and kept up a rigorous exercise routine to maintain my hot bod (God forbid Steve found me wanting sexually). On the side, I researched and wrote my second book which required some travel to interview people about the life and death of my brother, Bryan. Since we had been raised apart in the last decade of his life, I needed to meet and talk to those who knew him best: teachers, former girlfriends, and roommates.

It was, without question, a busy and stressful time. Exhausting, actually. I felt on the verge of a nervous breakdown primarily because of this issue of not bringing in a paycheck equal to Steve.

Looking back at my ambitions for myself, and the complexities of my relationship with Steve, I wish (as I have written several times now) that I could have taken that young woman aside and said, “Chill the F out!”

But we learn through doing. There was no chilling out at that time. It was what I believed I needed to do. And, instead of lamenting over how hard I worked or how stressed I felt, or even pointing a finger at Steve, I realize it’s best to offer my deepest thanks for that woman’s hard work and willingness to give so much…even if she was unable to keep up with her husband’s earning. That Jennifer-of-old was a person who kept on paddling no matter the storm.

The Date is Set

While it seemed to take forever to figure out the date the book would officially release, it was finally set for October of 2000.

The first print run was something like ten or maybe twenty thousand hard cover books (don’t hold me to that). This number was based on how well the press was lining up to help us. I was scheduled to be in all kinds of magazines and newspapers like Newsweek, USA Today, some Sunday circular. The indy bookstores were giving me awards that would place the book on special display cases, too.

An aggressive book tour was also set, with ten, then fifteen, then twenty readings across the USA, plus interviews and appearances in every city. A tour abroad was in the works and I would be traveling up into Canada, throughout the UK and then up into the Scandinavian countries. Spain and France were asking for dates on my calendar as well.

On the day, or very near the day, that my personal box of hard cover books arrived, Rosie O’Donnell’s producers called…could I be on her show when I came through New York?

Yes, the PR team said.

Spencer, three and a half now, holding a first edition of Blackbird. Finally.

Kim called with this news, sounding a little glum. “We were just hoping the Harpo people would jump first. I mean, it’s good to be on O’Donnell,” she said, “but this means an appearance on Oprah is off the table.”

Being on Oprah, being picked to sit on her stage, was the equivalent of passing, unimpeded, through the Pearly Gates. Even the Pope didn’t have the power that Oprah wielded at that time…at least when it came to selling books. If Ms. Winfrey said to buy a book, that was the end of that. You were set, as an author, your destiny engraved in stone.

“Do we drop Rosie O’Donnell then?” I asked. “Hold out for the Harpo people?”

“No way,” Kim said. “A bird in the hand, and all that.”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” I said.

To me, it was fine to go on Rosie O’Donnell. She was fun, funny, and an adoptive mother with a tough history. I could relate to O’Donnell. Oprah was something else. I was actually relieved. But, the disappointment Kim felt made me sad for her, and for Pocket. They had all worked so hard.

Where is the finish line in this game, I wondered? When do we truly get to rest?

“Oh well,” Kim said, brightening again. “We’ve come this far. We’ll be fine. You got your books?”

“Got ‘em,” I said.

“And, good news,” Kim said. “Your last check is on the way. I saw it was approved by accounting. You should have it at the end of the week.”

Amen and alleluia, I wanted to say but only said, “That is good news!”

We hung up then, Kim going back to her world.

As for me, it was time to make sure the house was picked up and the dinner made, time to greet my man at the door with the news of money coming in, time to get Spencer what he needed, too. Time to be everything to everyone. And, on top of everything else, time to get ready to hit the road and promote my book, which was coming out in a few more weeks.

(Go directly to the next post on the Blackbird journey now).

It’s pretty interesting that my publishing schedule here at Flight School landed on Sunday, which was both Christmas and New Year’s.

So, welcome 2023. 🎉

In the last two years, we have been collectively grabbed by our ankles and shaken upside down. Then, we were dropped on our heads. For a while, we’ve been hurting, reeling about, and finally, we’ve been getting back on our feet and looking around at a new world.

2023 will be the year of “facing the truth no matter how painful” in my humble opinion.

We are all in it, too. From the Sudan to the Arctic. From sea to sea. But closer to home, here in the U.S.A., we are half way through a four year cycle known as Pluto Return which began in the spring of 2020.

I’m not very good with all the astrological details but I can say we are half way into a journey of descent into the underworld where we get to see every ugly skeleton and lie and abuse and distortion that has been long covered over.

Our job then is to look and to feel and to be honest with ourselves. If we can do this, if we can face the darkness and the sorrows and the inhumanities we have wrought on ourselves and the world in our building of this great nation, well, we will have a good chance to continue forward with this republic known as the United States of America. We are as free as any people in the world. We have more prosperity, too. More resources. More grit. More ability than we know. What we need now is more heart. More wisdom. More humility. More honesty.

I, for one, have been practicing toward this for my entire adult life. What is a memoir writer is she is not working from her heart, her wisdom, her humility, and her honesty?

My New Year prayer for you, and for myself, is to show up and to make space for you to show up, too.

Happy New Year! May you and yours be well.

~ Jennifer, 💫