Family Pieces: Remembering My Grandmother

Today's entry must divert from its course of publishing discussion to focus on a recent event that has affected the author.

On March 3, 2010, the day after I published my last entry, my grandmother passed away. For those who have read my book, Scattered Pieces, you have an idea of how much my grandmother meant to me. All of the successes I have been blessed to achieve can  be accredited to all she has instilled in me. I have been able to endeavor undeterred because I knew that she, if no one else, believed in me. Her love was unconditional, and it knew no limits. She gave it, even if the recipient was unworthy.

My grandmother was the only person in the world whom I felt understood me, so when she passed I lost not just a grandmother, but a mother, a friend, a confidant, an ally. But, today, I write to you in the midst of my bereavement, not in mourning, but joyful. My heart is glad because of my many personal milestones that God had allowed her witness: my speeches, my graduations, my wedding, my children, and the publication of my first book. While many family members requested for me to give them a copy of my book, she was the first person to purchase one--and she never requested an autograph. That was my grandmother--giving without expectation. My grandmother, or "Mommom" as I affectionately called her,  resided in Delaware while I was living in Texas. She'd call me up many nights just to discuss the book. She would mention names of characters and try to figure out their true identities. She'd laugh at my words while reminiscing. She would talk about some the events mentioned in the book, and try to feed me family information so that I could pen a sequel. I'd laugh, and tell her that it was my first and last memoir and that the focus of the book was not to be about my family per say, but about family cycles of domestic violence. In despite of how she may have interpreted my work, it felt good knowing my 68-years-old grandmother was actively reading my book. I can honestly say she was my biggest fan, and until the day she breathed her last breath, I was hers.

As a writer, I cannot walk away from the experience of feeling the absence of her life without transferring those emotions onto the page. For me, it's therapy; it's healing; it's honoring; it's remembering. And, in spite of the brevity of her life, she lived a full one--one that is worth writing about.
In keeping of my word, I will not pen another memoir or autobiography, but she will undoubtedly be the inspiration of many stories to come.

Friendship Pieces: Mixing Business with Friendship

As stated in earlier pieces, my friends' encouragement gave me confidence to believe that they would support me with my self-publishing endeavor; however, some of their actions did not quite align with their words. Before I ever shoveled out a dime to self-publish, I ran the idea past two of my girlfriends who were working as publicists at the time. Both seemed eager to assist, and one even denied my offer of payment for rendered services since she considered me to be her sister. I spoke to them about my marketing ideas and even sent follow-up emails letting them know about every phase of the book's publication. Not once did either of them say they were too busy to help or was unsure about my project. It's natural for a friend to lack an author's zeal, but I thought I'd be helping them out financially as they would be equally helping me to market my book. But, the closer the book got to the printer, the louder their silence about my project and business proposition became. The sisterly side of me was deeply wounded by the less than minimal effort exuded by women who are dear to me. But, I refused to allow a verbal business agreement to sabotage decade long friendships.

I am a firm believer in the cliched saying, "when one door closes, another one opens," and that's exactly what happened. I was on Facebook one day when I noticed that one of my sorority sisters was working on a book of her own. I read a couple of her excerpts, and they just tickled me silly (another cliche). I decided to call her and commend her on her work. During our laughter and joke filled conversation, she began to discuss how she planned on marketing her book. And, that's when it clicked-- She has a background in P.R. and has done some of the most coveted internships for top P.R. firms in the nation. I wanted to pick her brain about how to market my book. I wasn't going to dare to ask another friend or close associate to do the publicity work for me again. I had resolved to doing it myself. But, after she heard about my book, her enthusiasm over my work was beyond my wildest imagination. This enthused lady hired herself! The wheels in her head started turning immediately (and yet another cliche), and she began running off marketing ideas. The woman was so excited that she even refused my offer of compensation for services rendered; however, I insisted. I wanted to compensate her for her work to show my gratitude and to keep things between us professional. If a person does good work, he or she deserves good pay, and besides people have a tendency to place pro bono jobs on the lower end of their priority list. I hung up the phone and immediately entered into praise and worship. Only God could get the glory for this because not only was our business relationship unexpected, she was also willing to work with my very small budget. In the middle of my praise session, I had a revelation. My new publicist was also a child who witnessed domestic violence. Our sisterhood now transcended our sorority affiliation.

God does everything for a reason. What started out as an unintended diss by two of my closest friends resulted in a wonderful blessing. I've spoken with both friends quite a few times after the publication and promotion for my book began, and both of them are voluntarily taking small roles in helping me promote through word of mouth and other kind deeds. I believe that their rejection was also a test for me. My old self never internalized rejection very well. I would have responded in rage, personalizing the actions as a malicious and deliberate attack, and I would have undoubtedly severed our friendship. The fact that I forgave them before they even sought my forgiveness is a true testament of personal and cognitive growth. It shows that I am no longer transferring unresolved feelings that I held for my father onto other people. It attests that the Scattered Pieces of my life have now, with God's help, been made whole.

Until I blog again,

Flora