July 2, 2026

Post Pub Aftermath

In February and March, I wrote a lot about trying to release a book in a way that didn’t wreck me, about doing a better job of staying sane and balanced through the whole experience, and for the most part, I think, I pulled it off. Which I was able to do partly because I felt terrifically boosted—my publisher was pushing my novel, they wanted the book to succeed as much as I did, there was a team of talented people working on the sales and marketing effort. I had fun, and got to have some fantastic adventures and events, living out author dreams (signing copies on display in New York City! Never mind that there were only two bookstores stocking my book in New York City! Because there were two bookstores stocking my book in New York City! And I was there for an actual book event. This is the the stuff they put on vision boards, so the caveats don’t count.)

The ridiculous thing about me is that every time I’ve released a book, I’ve been sure it will appear on the bestseller list. And I’m grateful to have been bestowed with a sense of underlying confidence, one that means I am often disappointed, but it’s not the worst way to move around in the world. And I will admit that as I was planning for my book to be a bestseller, I was grappling with how that would factor with my project of having this book launch be different. Like, OBVIOUSLY, if my book is a massive success, I’m not going to be able to take much credit for getting through the experience in a positive way, you know? (What a quandary!) So in a way (silver linings!) it was useful to not be a massive success. (Phew. Dodged a bullet there!) I don’t follow sales numbers avidly, but the book did well enough upon release. It was gratifying to see it appear slip onto the Canadian indie bestseller list. Sale have fallen off since then, which is to expected, and I think I’ve done a better job than in the past of riding this wave in a sensible way, though not sensible enough to have given up on my unrealistic expectations.

The last while has been a little tough though, as the novel fades from readers’ attention, but I was expecting that. The thing about lighter books is that they’re meant to be more ephemeral, for the moment instead of for all time, to borrow a notion from Carol Shields’ novel Unless, about a writer whose work was on the lighter side. As with the bestseller lists, I have high hopes for posterity (who is to say the Nobel Prize might not be calling!), but I keep all this tempered, which is easy when I remember how lucky I’ve been.

But still, the aftermath of publication is a weird time. In the New York “Book Gossip” newsletter, I could relate when Daniel Lavery explains, “As with anything, the reality comes up against the ideal. In the immediate aftermath of a book, there’s a growling unfitness to be around other people. Why are you not all putting me up on your shoulders? I’m aware that when something good happens, I will often slot quickly into rage if I’m not careful about maintaining a more useful mind-set. I’m aware that I will become a bad person for a few weeks. I will become grasping and desperate and vindictive and I will attempt to cover all of that up with an appearance of uncomplicated good cheer and ease. I know that it will pass.”

The one thing I was not remotely prepared for a bout of post-publication anxiety/shame. I went through it when my first novel came out, back when I didn’t understand my anxiety at all (which must have been really hard!), and I wasn’t prepared for it to happen again. I thought maybe this stage was a phase I’d aged out of, but I think I only skipped it with my second and third books by never having my novels receive much attention at all and drowning in the shame of that. This time, having made it through the publication period with my spirits in tact, I thought I’d get off scot-free, but no!

My anxiety has been running high on a general level anyway, and it’s definitely connected to my hormones, but a couple of weeks ago, it jumped into overdrive, and everything just felt terrible. I felt like everyone has made at me, that I’d disappointed everyone, that I’d messed up somehow. It relates, I think, to what Lavery’s question about feeling perpetually lifted up. It wasn’t happening now—why not? It was all on me, and I felt so terribly exposed, vulnerable, walking around like a human bruise, ugly and purple. Embarrassing,

I knew it would pass, but also it was awful and unexpected, both familiar and strange. And a reminder that completely smooth roads are a lot to ask of anything, but like with the darn bestseller list, I really do keep my expectations high. It’s accepting the reality of otherwise that is the trick, but I like to think I’m getting better at that somewhat.