It’s Halloween as I type this, and you’ll see this newsletter is a bit of a departure from the standard issue.
First, I wanted to let you know that I’ll be adding a paid subscription option. You can still get the monthly issue for free, no worries there. And if you’d like to support my writing now, you’ll see there’s an option and I’d be very appreciative.
As I’m developing content for paid subscribers, I’m thinking about including writer sprints (where we gather live for 45 minutes and commit to write together), interesting research I come across while working on stories, and some recorded excerpts from the regular author interviews I do for Medium. But I’m curious what is of interest/use to you. Please, weigh in! Either comment here, or reply to this email. Let me know what could help you in your journey as a creative.
Now for the horrid part
Ugh, this. I have the terrible job of reporting that the publishing deal for Blissful Thinking: A Memoir of Surviving the Wellness Revolution has been scuttled. I’m reeling. We were in the final stages of editing the manuscript. My first thought—This could only happen to me at this stage of publishing!—quickly proved false (a perfect mirror of the book itself).
First I stewed for a week, miserable. I had just gotten my first reader reviews. People not related to me who read the book had incredible things to say that got me even more excited to share Blissful Thinking with the world.
“Kirchner’s fluid voice and masterful control of narrative are delightful companions on a journey through America, Qatar, India, the mind, and—most importantly—the heart.”
—Eva Hagberg, Author of How To Be Loved
“A funny and heartwarming story with a refreshingly honest take on the idea of what wellness even means.”
—Ophira Eisenberg, Host of NPR’s Ask Me Another and author of Screw Everyone: Sleeping My Way to Monogamy
“A page turner that will leave readers not knowing whether to laugh or cry or both, but it will, no doubt, leave them wanting more. This book of resilience and bravery should be on everyone’s reading list.”
—Aileen Weintraub, Author of Knocked Down: A High-Risk Memoir
“There is much to love and learn from all of her attempts at spiritual growth, but her healthy skepticism and strong inner voice is what finally brings her home.”
—Debi Lewis, Author of Kitchen Medicine: How I Fed My Daughter Out of Failure to Thrive
“It's not often one finds humor, addiction, grief, and genuine openness tangled into one memoir, but Blissful Thinking does exactly that. Traversing both the globe and her inner landscape, Kirchner shows readers what it means to search, try, and even hope during life's most challenging moments.”
—Rev. Dr. Angela Yarber, Award-winning author of Queering the American Dream
With a pub date only six months away (publishing moves incredibly slowly, that’s entering the lightning round of a literary contract), I needed to let my writing colleagues know what happened. Why I wouldn’t be doing readings with them, or blurbing their books. When I “reverse-announced” my book news to a group of these friends, I was feeling bleak. I needed to let folks know, sure, but I was also looking for advice on a way out of the hole I’d sunk into. Writers are nothing if not adept at managing painful rejections.
What I got was a shock.
Writer after writer told of similar experiences. I had NO IDEA.
Let me be clear, this isn’t a statement about publishing in general. I don’t think anyone is under the impression it’s an easy industry. The nature of deals and vaunting of some writers over others is not transparent, and while the Substack model of direct-to-reader publishing is disrupting the industry, we’re still in the midst of this seismic shift. This isn’t letting the pub off the hook by any stretch, just that I’m less interested in talking about the “deal” than the personal odyssey.
What I do want to make a statement about is the power of sharing yourself. The deep, dark, and unwelcome. Because who wants to share that garbage? We live in a “like” culture, where perfection is rewarded. While I’ve never embraced this model, I’m no fool. Influencers have spawned an entire economy. Even so, barring ordinary pleasantries, fake isn’t me and never has been.
In this case, I felt deeply embarrassed to even share this information. The idea that “obviously if something is wrong, then something is wrong with me” is a very difficult tape to erase. There’s so much agency in the implication that when shit goes south, I can fix it. In other words, sharing that a deal went wrong, I felt, reflected poorly on me. I should’ve been able to fix it.
And yet, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to share information that felt like a shameful secret. I don’t know why this is, but there is some bad news that I cannot keep to myself; the withholding makes my life feel like a lie. These urges surprise even me, and probably coalesce around a multitude of life events though the last straw could be trivial. For sure I respect anything that might trigger the need to confess. But it’s unpredictable. The supposed cause could be pandemic pounds, unwanted wrinkles, or, in this case, the need to pivot on a business deal. I don’t know what will set off a direct blast to the soul, but I know when I’m overwhelmed.
To some, changing a vendor—and a publisher is essentially that—is just another day at the office. Even I enter into and exit business agreements all the time. But altering course on the years of momentum that build toward a single book’s release is, for me anyway, something more like swerving to avoid an iceberg at midnight somewhere off the coast of Newfoundland. But this book will not go down like the Titanic, and it’s all thanks to what happened next.
I got hundreds of notes. There was very little in the way of advice like, get a massage, or take care of yourself. Though I did get some of that and it’s perfectly lovely and solid. And there was also plenty of bearing witness, the I’m so sorry this happened. Such messages had the immediate effect of lightening the burdensome feelings that had been stuck inside me for a week. But what changed the game was the people who shared their stories. As I said, I was blown away by the number of writers who have experienced something similar. Their notes moved me to persevere with the book. And that reminded me why I write in the first place—I share my stories because I have been so moved by the stories of other people.
A couple of weeks ago—when I still had a book deal—a writing coach asked me why I’d written this book. I didn’t hesitate. “To help others people reclaim the parts of themselves that they’ve given away.” Then I quickly added, “But it’s a story. There’s nothing prescriptive and I wouldn’t be shocked if no one ever mentioned that lesson. Not after my first memoir, which was about how living in the Muslim world showed me how I’d internalized misogyny, and no one ever talked about that. And that’s fine. My first goal is to entertain.”
What I’ve discovered about myself is that I don’t tend to learn when people try to enlighten me. Going to Montessori school left an imprint—I like to initiate learning rather than have it foisted upon me.
So the most gratifying part of this exchange was how many people wrote to say that my story left them feeling more emboldened to stand up for themselves in their own contract negotiations. Maybe we all have Michaela Coel to thank for that (check out her chutzpah from last month’s issue). Her story of not caving to Netflix pressure is inspiring, AND earned her a much better deal. Not that I felt brave, just that I had no choice.
Thank you, each and every one of you. You gave me Jonathan Van Ness-level LIFE.
Anyway, now here we are. I have a book that feels very of this moment, one that I thought had just died a quick and dishonorable death. But I’ve gone from feeling depleted and unable to see a way out to being (somewhat) eager at the prospect of starting over. That’s right, this publishing deal has been so long in the making that my agent isn’t even an agent anymore.
Onward.