[Book Ends] The stories we need to tell

Book Ends is a new series where I share insights about the cookbook writing process. For even more, subscribe to my newsletter.

The thing about writing is you have to love the journey. If you don't, you'll be disappointed most of the time because writing's biggest milestones take time to appear, often a good long while. Big moments are thrilling and all, but it's the quiet, daily writing nurtured day in and day out that gets us there.

Case and point: On March 1st I submitted the first draft of Eat This Poem to my publisher. Yes!  But to keep things in perspective, this moment was two years in the making.  Naturally, I wanted to celebrate and mark the occasion so after hitting "send" on an email with an attachment titled "Eat This Poem Manuscript Final," I walked to the beach.

At a leisurely pace it took about 20 minutes, which was the perfect amount of time to ponder the culmination of more than two years of work. To say I felt lighter would be an understatement. But more than that, I felt a profound sense of completion and gratitude for arriving at this milestone. I wanted to celebrate and feel all the feels, as the saying goes.

It was a Tuesday, so the beach was mostly deserted, and when I sat down on a cement bench at the edge of the sand, my eyes welled up with tears. I anticipated this might happen and welcomed it as best I could. These were happy tears, of course. Proud tears. Astonished tears.

A few days later, I went to the beach again.

This time, I ran.

Well, I tried to run. I didn't make it very far, actually, but I knew that would happen. The point is, I was planning to go to yoga, but decided to run because my body told me so. 

The sensation isn't new to me. I've always been athletic and ran cross country during high school, it's just the past few years have required a different type of exercise. Since 2013, yoga has been my spiritual and physical exercise, almost exclusively. It got me through the stress of a two-hour commute, as well as my prenatal months. Ever since Henry's been born, all I've wanted to do is run.

Standing in front of the water, I remembered something my friend Lisa posted on her Instagram account recently.

of all the things
i could've been,

i am so glad
to be this

thank god
i didn't actually become

who i pretended to be
back when

i had no idea
who i was

-rudy francisco

When I run (or try to run), I can't help but think of my former self. The seventeen-year-old without a ring on her finger, without the extra inch around her hips, without a clear course or sense of purpose just yet. Without a book contract. Without a son. My, times have changed. 

One of the biggest lessons of adulthood I've learned over the years is the importance of listening to your body. This goes for creativity, too. Right now, you might need to record your birth story before it blurs into memory, or draft an essay about growing up with a sibling 15 years older than you. Maybe you need to start journaling every day, or outline a future novel. Maybe you need to pull up some very old files on your computer and read something you wrote several years ago, then polish it like a shiny coin.

Don't worry that there's more than one idea floating in your head, because there always will be. The question is, what story do you need to tell right now? 

This urgency intertwined food and poetry for me in 2012, and now look where we are. So go with your gut. You never know where a story will lead, either, which of course is one of the very best parts indeed.

[Book Ends] The smell of laser ink

Book Ends is a new series where I share a bit about the cookbook writing process. For even more behind-the-scenes information, subscribe to my newsletter.

Something happens when you write a cookbook. Or, I should say, something happens when you write a cookbook and a blog. You can't do both, at least temporarily, because for weeks you're in the thick of it recipe testing, writing, thinking, tasting, and almost all your meals are for the book, so you can't share them. Any stray recipes that aren't from the book might not be recipes at all (hello, almond butter and toast).

I think most of us cookbook writers/bloggers hope this doesn't happen. I know I did. But between work and baby things and this very important project with a looming deadline, I haven't been able to sift through new poems or develop new recipe pairings or finish new literary city guides (there are three waiting in the wings!). It's all book, all the time over here. But only for about fourteen more days. 

On Sunday, Valentine’s Day, I did something monumental. After I got a massage (every new mother's dream gift), and after I made a cake for the fourth time, I printed out the first draft of my manuscript. The whole thing, all five sections, all hundred-and-something pages, all on my laser printer that I absolutely love the smell of. As my husband eloquently pointed out, it smells like progress. 

The manuscript isn't done yet, but it’s close. I’ve managed enough writing and note taking and tinkering to have a comfortable, fully formed draft to start reading through. This is the good stuff now, when I can step away, be objective, read on paper instead of my computer screen, and get a real sense of things. I'll be doing this with a red pen in hand and a slice of toast with almond butter nearby, naturally.

If you're interested, here are a few sneak peeks of some recipes I'm working on. More to come!

On your bookshelf

A dream coming to fruition is simultaneously surreal and thrilling, like the sweet and savory flavor combination of sea salt and caramel or strawberry and balsamic vinegar. There's something intrinsically right about the whole thing.

You know I've been swept away by motherhood these past few months, but there's also been a birth of a different sort taking place. The kind with pages and black ink and binding.

I'm writing a cookbook.

(!!!)

Part of me wants to say I don't believe it, I'm still in the best kind of shock. In some ways this is true. But in another way, and perhaps a more important way, I'm fully grounded because this isn't a project that fell into my lap. I worked at it, I waited, I didn't give up. A lot has gone in behind the scenes for more than two years, actually.

One day I'll share more about the journey to publication, but for now, I just want to tell you that come Spring 2017, in time for National Poetry Month, you and I will be able to have a real, smell it, underline it, post-it-note stick it, hold-it-in-your-hands book. I can hardly wait.

Roost Books is the publisher, and like the blog posts you've come to expect from this space, the book will combine poetry, recipes, and stories, exploring all the ways poetry infuses our daily lives, especially in the kitchen. I hope it will find a space on your bookshelf.

Thank you as always for reading, and cheers to the year ahead. 

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I know many of you readers are also writers, so throughout 2016 I've decided to share some behind-the-scenes glimpses into the writing process. I'll be dedicating a few upcoming newsletters to the subject, so if you'd like to learn more about writing a cookbook and my writing lessons in general, sign up here. (If you already receive my monthly  newsletter, you're all set.)

Much more to come!