Digging Deep
About three years ago I decided to write a book. I was isolated in my new home, my fitness business was dead in the water because of COVID, and I was looking for something to do. I always longed to write a book. There is an air of mystery, awe, and respect that surrounds an author. I envied the life of Jessica Fletcher, the author of mystery books and solver of crimes on the TV show Murder She Wrote.
I assumed my first book would be a collection of my more than 250 columns in the Hill Rag, a DC newspaper I’ve written for over a 25-year period. Those columns explored the leading edge of fitness and wellness thought.
But soon after I moved to Delaware (almost four years ago), my 15.5-year-old mini-golden-doodle, Marcello, transitioned. He was the first dog I ever had.
It was the shutdown. I was living in a strange place and knew no one, not even a veterinarian.
The loss broke open my heart so wide I could barely speak without gasping for air. Friends from DC rallied around me, yet day-to-day living was unbearable without my boy. I thought I might find relief by writing the sweet story of our life together. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The popularity of the best seller Marley & Me by John Grogan and the obsession Americans have with dogs gave me confidence that my story was appealing. I joined the Hay House writers’ community and started writing. The program in which I enrolled was thorough and enlightening.
The first blow to my naïve notion about writing a book was when I learned that publishing a book is not about just writing a terrific story. I needed a book proposal with many different components that would attract an agent and/or a publisher.
The next shock occurred when I realized my decades of writing did not prepare me for authoring a book and definitely not for writing a proposal. I dug in, knuckled down, and tackled the book proposal. My goal: submit to the Hay House contest to win a publishing contract. Savings be damned—I scrounged around for the funds to hire a pro. I was confident that my final product was the one Hay House would choose.
When I didn’t even earn an honorable mention, I broke down. I felt raw, rejected, and devastated, with no idea what to do and without anyone to discuss possibilities. My book progress screeched to a halt for a year. The rejection crushed my fragile ego and self-confidence. Alone on my journey I searched for ways to feel better. Staying away from the thoughts of Marcello and my book kept me protected—or so I thought.
The real story was in my heart, nudging to get out. Eventually, I realized my story was not about a woman and her cute dog, but rather, about what I learned from him. It was about inspiring other women like me—women wanting to feel the completeness of love, yet not finding it in the traditional cultural avenues of marriage and children. I picked up the project again. My book, Found—How a Single, Middle-Aged Woman Discovered How to Love and Be Loved from Her First Dog, was reborn.
With a book proposal in my pocket but feeling overwhelmed by thoughts of what to do with it, I switched direction and took a course on self-publishing. I started writing again. The pain swelled and spilled over me like the ocean breaching the dunes onto the highway. I cried daily and realized I was grieving about a lot more than Marcello’s death—years of deaths, unrequited loves, and unrealized dreams. It was through this cleansing that my purpose and direction became clear.
Midway through the publishing course I became overwhelmed with the amount of technical expertise and financial commitment needed to publish solo. The project was halted again—but not for long.
This time, I jumped into a course on writing a query letter: a 300-word, flawless, dynamic, and alluring communication sent to at least 50 agents (probably more), trusting that one would be sufficiently smitten with my story to successfully pitch my book to publishers. I actually found my tribe—a group of writers from around the globe who, like me, are working toward their dream of publishing.
The journey of writing a book has not been at all what I expected it would be. It’s a long way from over but now hope has found its way back into my heart. I don’t mind the tears anymore. Even in death my Marcello has helped me become confident, grounded, and emotionally healthier. ▼
Pattie Cinelli is a journalist who focuses on non-traditional ways to stay healthy and get well. You can email her with questions or column suggestions at: fitmiss44@aol.com
Photo: Dave Koster, Portraits in the Sand