Next book?

Unlike fiction writers, we non-fiction, self-helpy people don’t submit books, we submit book proposals, a lengthy outline of an idea. Good news: The book is sold before you start writing it. Bad news: creative direction is subject to group-think.In writing 4 books, I’ve screwed this creative direction thing up every which way. I’ve acted the know-it-all and ignored valuable input for making my work better—and, hugely to my chagrin, I’ve taken advice I knew was crappy but failed to reject due to lack of confidence in my own judgment.

So I have the benefit of having made big mistakes and the knowledge that I’m truly capable of great misjudgment. These may not sound like great advantages, but they actually are. I’ve really learned from my errors.

The book I’ve proposed is called “The Wisdom of a Broken Heart.” It’s about the power and soulfulness that are to be gained from heartbreak. I’m talking about relationship-related heartbreak, the kind that turns you into a wretched, obsessive toothpick of a human being. That’s the bad news. The good news: when your heart is broken, the vessel has shattered. Whatever you thought your life was, whoever you thought you were supposed to be, these things are gone and instead there is tremendous not-knowing. In wisdom tradition, this is considered fortunate. The book is about how and why it is.

I discuss new ideas with publishers with a bizarre mixture of perkiness, shame, and hope. I mean I like my ideas, but I don’t really expect anyone else will. Or won’t. I know I’m supposed to be supremely confident, but I’m not. Other people’s points of view have great impact on me. They can make me feel very inspired or very defeated.

One piece of feedback I’ve gotten is that the book would be better if it were about loss in general, not just romance-related loss.

I think I like this idea. I’d like to write more broadly on this topic. In fact, maybe that’s what I really want to write about in my heart of hearts.

Whether directly or indirectly, what I write is based on the language of Buddhism. The thing that attracted me to Buddhism in the first place, especially Shambhala Buddhism, which is what I practice, was that it taught profoundly intelligent ways to meet your own emotional intensity. I needed this. If I could write something that was useful to others who may also need it, I would be extremely fulfilled. I would get to devote myself to studying these teachings in order to be of benefit. I can’t imagine a better way to spend my time.

Since I’ve been a little girl, I’ve heard things like why are you so negative, don’t be so serious about everything. WTF. It’s not negative to consider painful emotion. It’s not bad to want to look as sharply as you can into your own life. I’d be delighted to act as spokesperson for confusion, sadness, and somberness—feelings our world tells us are signs of failure. They’re not. They have value. And PS, in greatly counter-intuitive fashion, tremendous, radiant joy results from opening yourself to them, but this is another story.

On the other hand, I still really, really think a book about getting over a love affair is legitimate. The pain is so real and so difficult and there aren’t very many soulful books out there about relating to this particular situation.

So regarding new book idea, the bad news: I think I’m still not clear enough on my own idea and could get run over by another’s certainty. The good news: My lack of clarity makes me vulnerable and therefore tender and open to the wisdom of the moment.

So we’ll see.

categorized in: creativity