With Resolve

Screen Shot 2018-12-31 at 3.45.00 PM

The best way to measure where we are is to look back at where we were.

I remind my clients of this principle often, in my therapy office. When they come in with small frustrations (the flat tire, the grumpy kid, the demanding boss), I sometimes remind them of where they were last year with larger struggles (the cheating spouse, the bankruptcy notice, the suicidal thoughts). With a bit of perspective, our current problems sometimes don’t feel as overwhelming.

And that is the perspective I choose to view 2018 with. This year had plenty of frustrations for me, but overwhelmingly, this was a year in which I achieved many goals and accomplished some things that I never thought were possible.

In 2017, I became financially solvent. I got health insurance for the first time in years, eliminated debt, and developed a savings account, which gave me the ability to start traveling a bit for the first time, and I continued that in 2018. With the ability to work remotely (somewhat), I was able to take several short trips, where I could stay in inexpensive accommodations and explore new cities while staying on top of my business prospects. I took four solo trips this year, to Phoenix, Arizona; to Calgary, Alberta; to Albuquerque and Santa Fe, New Mexico; and, the most epic, to Juneau, Alaska. I also took four trips with my partner, romantic getaways where I could still work while we were gone; to Philadelphia, Philadelphia; to Palm Springs, California; to Seattle, Washington; and to New Orleans, Louisiana. All of these were incredible trips that resulted in a lifetime of memories and many new friends, but Juneau held the most magic for me as I saw an entirely different part of the country. I look forward in 2019 to more travel and exploration.

In 2017, I talked constantly about wanting to do more writing and performance. And so I launched a monthly story-telling night. It grow, steadily and smoothly, and I kept it running in 2018 with 12 more performance. We switched the format, adding more readers, and after a time, we started selling tickets to the event. It has grown into something that I adore, and look forward to every month.

In addition to that, in 2018, I did the impossible. Multiple times. I finished filming a documentary that consumed my time, attention, and creative energy for over two years. (The film, Dog Valley, remains in the editing phase, and likely will for several more months, but filming is complete). And I published a book! I published a memoir, Gay Mormon Dad, in which I boldly tell my story of coming out, and leaving religion to find myself. It’s a work I’m incredibly proud of, and the feedback and reviews on it were overwhelmingly positive. Ultimately, it only sold a few hundred copies, but I remain overtly proud of the work. It was a life accomplishment, something I’d want mentioned in my obituary some day.

2018 also became a year with HUGE unpredictable events, most of which had very little yield as a result. I started keeping a list of opportunities that presented themselves, almost all of which had no follow-through, and about half way through the year, I had to work on strategies to free myself from the emotional stress of all of this. I participated in five interviews on major podcasts and broadcasts about my book, my therapy work, and my story-telling. I think these interviews helped others, but I’ve only received sporadic feedback from them overall; still, all were wonderful experiences. I had several offers for other interviews (including one from a media celebrity), but none of them panned out. I appeared in a different documentary about gay Mormon issues, but not many attended the premiere. I had about ten different potential offers to fund my documentary (Dog Valley) and held many different meetings regarding funding, but only one of the offers turned out to be serious, and it is still pending at the time of this writing. In addition, I had a few different book companies show interest in taking my book to a higher reading audience and promotion platform, but all of these yielded no fruit. Huge offers kept coming, and I responded enthusiastically to each one, but ultimately, nearly all of my answers received no replies. I type this now without bitterness, but the wrestle I had with this over the past 12 months has been a mighty one.

2018 had a few very tough emotional wrestles for me as well. I have more self-confidence, belief, and esteem than I ever had in my life span, which is wonderful, and I saw my kids thrive. I had a second wonderful year with my boyfriend, and we grew together more tightly, working through issues and falling more in love. And I watched my sons thrive in their new charter school, turning 7 and 10 this year; they are incredible and wonderful, now more than ever. Despite all of these positives, I was hurt very badly by two people that I trust very much this year. These events resulted in me learning more than ever about trust, vulnerabilities, forgiveness, and recovery. These isolated events led to lots of tears and tough life lessons. The good news, though, is that I learned from both and came out stronger and, I hope, with more compassion and grace. I went to some therapy myself to sort out some of these issues, and I’m a better person because of it.

2018 also led to me getting into much better physical shape. I grew more consistent at the gym and reached a place where I can look in them mirror and feel wonderful about the attractive guy I see looking back at me. I look forward to further progress this coming year.

In 2018, I read a lot of books, wrote a lot of stories, and watched a lot of television and movies. I moved into a new place, and took in a new roommate. I drank so much coffee. I made some new friends. I completed hundreds of therapy and crisis intervention sessions. I laughed so much, and I smiled even more. And strangely, I grew more internally quiet. I stopped expecting so much from the world, and instead grew at peace with my attempts to find it and do what I love. I stopped, for the most part, comparing my success to that of others. And I watched the people around me, those I love and trust the most, grow and change along with me.

I ended the year with some sobering personal revelations as well, all of which will help fuel me as I set goals this coming year. But the place realization is looking back to where I used to be, then seeing where I am now. And now, at year’s end, I can say I’m living my dream and enjoying the journey. It isn’t without setback or frustration, but I’m doing things that I love and that I’m passionate about, I have a solid court of lovely people who I support and love and trust to have my back, and I genuinely like who I am and what I am doing with my life.

And thus begins my 40th year. And I can’t think of a ground to build from.

Advertisements

the Courage to Change the Things I Can

courage

You can paint for hours until the picture meets your standards of perfection, then step back and look upon it with pride. You can hang it in a local art shop with a price tag on it, and tell everyone you know that it is there. You can scroll through the messages of people who say they are proud of you, that they love you, that they envy you for following your dreams. But when you ask most of them if they’ve stopped by to see the painting, you aren’t quite sure what to make of it when they say no, that they’ve been busy, or distracted, or that it’s not about your art and they really don’t look at anyone’s art, but still they’re so proud. And when you watch people walking through the art shop, you realize there are a thousand paintings hanging there, and they all have price tags, and you can’t really do anything to make anyone look at yours and be proud of it like you are. And you certainly can’t make them buy it. So do you sit back and give up? Do you just wait it out, feeling sorry for yourself around the corner in the shadows? Do you keep painting more, hoping another piece will catch on? Do you give up completely, telling yourself that at least you tried? Or do you take what you’ve painted and find a new place to show it? Maybe place a bowl of chocolates in front of it, hang some Christmas lights around it? How much do you believe in yourself? And is the reality of living your dreams worth the work? Is it greater than the cost of not living them at all?

My life lately has been exactly what I’ve always envisioned it would be. As a human, I’m perpetually dissatisfied. (I mean, give a human exactly what it is they want: the million dollars, the perfect relationship, the picket fence, and the month-long cruise, and they are complaining about too much sunshine, not enough leg room, cold food, the kids being too loud, or still having a used car). But I really do work hard on gratitude. I have so much to be grateful for, and I have worked so hard to get here.

And after a few decades of seeing myself as someone incapable of being happy, I’m beyond thrilled to be able to say that I’m living the life that I want, or at least working on it. I have an attentive, kind, and loving boyfriend. I have beautiful children who bring me daily joy. I have enough money to pay for healthy food, basic bills, and some travel. I have a healthy body. I like my apartment, my city, my family. And I’m doing things in my life, professionally and creatively, that inspire passion and hope. I love the projects I’m working on.

But I find myself in a place of stopping and starting, regularly. I will pour a tremendous amount of time and talent into a project (much like the figurative painting mentioned above), and then find myself unable to progress due to others not following through. People say they’ll buy the book when they can, or they have purchased the book and will take months to read it. Local bookstores say they might want to carry it in time. Local radio shows and podcasts say it could be interesting to showcase the book, and that they’ll get back to me in a few weeks. I get stalled, then frustrated, as I feel stunted, ghosted, by those who I wish would show more interest.

All of this is counter-balanced by the fact that many have read my book, and they feel good about it. They have left reviews and said kind words, and it feels like such an honor and joy to hear this feedback. But at the end of the day, I really put myself out there, vulnerably, and I so badly want that to be met with a great success. I want to travel, read out loud, have people read my words and relate to them. I want to help change lives through the sharing of self. And as I wait for others to notice that, I find myself so intensely frustrated.

And, I realize, that is what self-publishing a book takes.

And the documentary, I’ve never done something so worthwhile (professionally). It brings me so much passion. I mean, I am putting myself out there, as part time investigative journalist, part time historian, part time director, part time producer, part time filmmaker/story-boarder/project manager/interviewer/therapist/negotiator. It is an insanely fulfilling and encouraging project, and the end result is going to change lives. But my life in this realm has become, again, about stops and starts. I’m the guy that asks for money and help, that tries to inspire people with passion and necessity, and who gets told over and over, “This project is amazing, I would love to help!”, only to have people go quiet afterwards to the point of avoiding me. This numbers into the dozens now, likely well over one hundred. I go through creative bursts, and then wait for weeks for others to, hopefully, follow-through. I push things as far as I can with time, effort, and energy, and then get stunted.

And, I realize, this is what making a documentary takes.

So I sit back, the gravel in my insides churning to cement, finding myself frustrated with the little things like unreturned text messages, unresolved issues, and unattended events, and then again remember that I’m living my dreams, and that this is part of it.

Then I return to that told familiar mantra. God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. 

I have courage in spades. I am a solution finder. A bridge builder. A magic bean buyer. I’ll keep pushing, pressing, asking, and foraging until the projects succeed. That, I can control. That, I can manage. This is the part of the journey where I have arrived at the plateau, and I have to find new paths to keep climbing.

And climb I shall.

Published

26166721_10159899496600061_8646978533611694750_n

I clicked ‘Publish’ on the final edit of my book, and then sat back, tempted to slam my laptop closed.

I expected a rush of elation. I wanted to rip my shirt open, incredible Hulk style, and smash my fist down on the ground in triumph. Instead, I felt my heart rate increase. I was nervous, and I felt an ache inside. It felt a little like exhaustion, and a little like heartbreak. Why?

I thought my book might be ready for publication about one week prior. Nervous that it would come out with typos or mistakes, I asked a few key people to give it one last look over, and I did one more myself. I quickly realized it wasn’t ready. Instead of publishing then, I gave the book a final edit. I pored over pages of vulnerable material, right from my heart space, cutting out paragraphs, deleting references, and combing over it line by line in order to make the book more effective, more readable.

I spent days, moving from one makeshift workstation to another. I would read a chapter at my kitchen table with a cup of coffee, then lay down on the floor in front of the fire place for the next chapter, then move to the hot tub for the third, propping my computer up on a towel placed on the folded back covering to keep it dry. I went through the book a full time, then again. I trimmed the book from 300 pages to 230, then had friends give it another read through. I saw the book shift from something dense and overly done to something succinct, smart, sharp, and wonderful.

Yet publishing felt so sudden, so jagged. Needing to chat with someone who understood, I messaged my writer friend, Meg.

Meg, I did it. I published.

Chad, that is huge! You did it! How do you feel?

Weird. Numb. My brain is empty. I feel purged, yet proud. I’m anxious and confused, yet accomplished and powerful. 

I’ve been there and I understand. It’s weird, right? What’s going through your mind?

Ugh. Everything. Will anyone read it? What if no one reads it? Oh my God, what if someone actually reads it! Is it as good as I think it is? Did I price it too high? I priced it too high. I’m so proud of this! Did I say too much? Did I say enough? Will it resonate with anyone? 

Chad, that’s normal. You basically just gave birth to a child. Stay calm and focused. This is all so good. And it’s going to be amazing. 

I’d been talking about writing a book for years. Something I, um, talk about in my book. I remember all the conversations I’ve had with those who read my blog about how they’d love to read a book by me. I thought of my mother saying she knew I’d write a book one day, with my best friend where he told me to make a book happen. I did it. And it felt amazing.

But there is something about a blog entry. You just type it up and click publish, and then people read it or they don’t. It feels like a journal entry, and it doesn’t even bother me if there is a typo or two. But a book, a book has promise and potential. It has permanency. It’s an entirely different caliber. It feels… amazing. Frightening.

I once published a comic book, the Mushroom Murders. It took me years to get it finished, coordinating with busy artists who also shared my passion for the book. Four years, actually. Then I had to work with a small press publishing company to help me market the book. I paid around $5000, a charge that went on my credit card, to print the book, and several boxes of product arrived at my home. I spent years selling it at conventions, in stores, to friends, and on Amazon. It got amazing reviews. And now, the final few hundred copies occupy dusty cardboard boxes in my storage room. I didn’t want that experience again.

This time, I printed my book per order, through an organization called CreateSpace. It markets the book through Amazon. No initial costs on my part. The book is printed per order. If only one copy is ordered, only one will ever be printed. Will it sell one, none, dozens, hundreds? Will anyone care? And because CreateSpace is the one to list the book, I don’t see until days or weeks later if any orders have taken place, or how many total. There are no little messages that indicate when a sale has happened. Not knowing if it is selling fills me with a different kind of confusion.

I had to shut my computer down and take the night off. I saw a movie. I grabbed a drink with friends. My boyfriend ket gripping my arm, squeezing, reminding me that things were fine, it was going to be okay. I breathed, calming myself. Writing didn’t usually feel this way. Such a weird stew of emotional ingredients behind all of this.

Well, I did it. I wrote a book. I designed a cover, edited it, and put it out there for the public. Years of life experience. Dozens of hours writing. A finely honed talent (I hoped others would agree). A stirring, powerful, and inspirational message. It could be… well, this could change my life. Or it could wind up in a box in my storage room, untouched within a few years.

Regardless, I did it. I accomplished one of my lifelong goals. I have no idea what might happen next, if anything. I’m powerful, vulnerable, and strong, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

And, in order to sort out my feelings, I decided to write a blog. About the vulnerability of writing and publishing. And maybe that tells me more than anything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Independent Christian Bookstores

jesusfish

“Thank you for calling Covenant Books, I’m Dawn, how can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Chad. I wrote a book, a memoirs of my life. I’m looking for a literary agent and a publisher to help me get it on the shelves.”

I kept enthusiasm in my voice, even though I was a bit nervous. Calls like this challenged some of my greatest fears and insecurities.

“Well, Chad, congratulations on getting your manuscript finished!” The word manuscript felt strange, it wasn’t a word that was part of my regular vocabulary. I would have to get used to it. “Tell me a bit about it!”

And so I told Dawn a bit about my book, telling her that it was my story of growing up Mormon as a gay kid in large and chaotic family, about my attempts to cure my homosexuality with religion, about getting married to a woman and having children, and about finally coming out of the closet and finding myself.

This was the fourth or fifth call to a literary agency that I had made in the past few days, and one of the agencies had already mailed me an official “we aren’t interested” letter. I’d done this once before. Just after college, years before, I had written several comic book scripts and shopped around for talented artists to draw them. Only one of my several books ever made it to print, and it had taken four years, and several thousand dollars, to publish. And then I had spent many months traveling around and selling it, never quite breaking even, and definitely never making a profit. I didn’t want to have to do that all over again.

My book now, which I was calling Gay Mormon Dad had come on suddenly. After years of blogging and writing my story, suddenly the format and layout of the book had struck me like a bolt. I’d hidden in a hotel room for four days, where I wrote the first third, and then I couldn’t stop writing it over the following weeks. Some formatting, some edits and alterations, and suddenly I had a manuscript. But I had to have a literary agent in order to connect me with publishers if I wanted this read. This book was me, my very essence, in so many ways, and I felt like it had the power to change the lives of those who read it. It could inform if not inspire. It felt like a calling to get it out there.

Dawn listened to my passionate, nervous voice for a bit, and then confidently responded. I could tell that her words were rehearsed, she must speak with many writers every day, but I could hear the warmth in her voice as well. She sounded as though she loved her job.

“The first thing I need to make sure of, you understand this is not the Covenant Publishing that is a business affiliated with the Mormon church, correct? That is a separate one. We get calls sometimes, and your book has the word Mormon in the title.”

“Oh, I don’t think the Mormon church would have any interest in publishing my book,” I laughed.

“Okay, good. Well, let me tell you what we could do for you.” She invited me to submit a full copy of the book to an editorial team, and they would review it to see if it was a good fit, to make corrections, and to recommend any formatting changes. If the book was accepted, I would then sign a contract with the company and pay a “to-be-determined” fee. That fee would go toward a cover design for the book, the initial printing, social media advertising, and the publishing of the book itself. I imagined it would be several thousand dollars out of pocket, but I didn’t know any other way around it. I grew very nervous and excited.

“The book would be available in certain places online, mostly in our European markets, and we would get it on the shelves in all of our stateside stores that want to order it. Most of these stores are independent Christian bookstores.”

“Wait, what?” I could hear the screeching tires sound effect in my head. My nervousness and excitement were replaced by a sense of dread. “Independent Christian bookstores?”

“Yes, we have a wonderful market across the country.”

“Dawn, my book in large part covers being gay, leaving Christianity, ending a marriage, and becoming an atheist, and it has references to gay sex.”

Dawn cleared her throat. “Well, like I said, our review team will determine goodness of fit with the company.”

“That isn’t the market for my book. There is no way this would be the right fit.”

For a moment, my brain flashed back to growing up Mormon in Missouri, and the hatred some of the other Christian groups had for Mormons there. I wondered if some of her initial interest in the book was due to the fact that I’d mentioned leaving Mormonism.

“Well, I certainly respect any decision you make. But if you’d like to try working together, we would certainly give the book a read and see how we feel about it.”

I thanked Dawn and hung up, drawing a black ink line through the name Covenant Publishing on my sheet of paper. Oh the irony, I thought. I envisioned the Christian mother in small town Alabama walking into her local Jesus Saves store and seeing a book called Gay Mormon Dad on the shelf. I couldn’t help it, I laughed out loud.

Back to the drawing board, I thought, and I dialed the next number on the list.