Manifest That Sh*t!

If you look up manifest (as a verb) in a traditional dictionary, you’ll find this definition: to display or show; demonstrate. But if you google it, you’ll find something entirely different and slightly more illusory. Here you’ll discover that manifesting is “to make something happen by imagining it” or the vague idea that “our thoughts have the ability to bring our dreams into reality.” Hmmm, sounds kinda sketchy to me. But my besties Hoda and Jenna are big fans. They’ve been talking about it for well over a year now.

I’m pretty sure you all know by now how this story ends because I’ve been posting the heck out of it but indulge me for a moment and let me take you on my journey getting there.

For many months over the past year, I had been spending hours every day researching and then reaching out to literary agents in the hopes of finding representation for Midlife Mischief… to no avail. I got rejection after rejection and each one got harder than the last. I’m nothing if not persistent so I kept at it, believing eventually I’d find that one person who loved Jen’s voice as much as I did and would want to bring her into the world of published books. So, I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that for months, I would watch Hoda and Jenna in the morning and then sit at my computer for the rest of the day, despondently working hard at getting rejected.

Hoda and Jenna would chat gayly and enthusiastically about “manifesting” and how we all have the innate power to bring about the change we want in our lives.

“FUCK THAT!!” I’d rage at my TV, shaking my fist in righteous indignation, trying my best to keep my tears at bay. “I call B.S., guys!” I’d shout. Manifesting only works if you’re already rich and famous or just extremely lucky. For the rest of us, down and out, sitting at home in our sweats with cold coffee watching them on TV, it was just a cruel reminder of the inherent unfairness of life.

This scenario played out the same pretty much every day. Until one day, I woke up, dried my eyes, wiped my nose and decided to do something about it. I opened an account on the Amazon publishing platform KDP and the rest, as they say, is history.

Now that I had my beautiful hot pink book in hand, it was time to get busy promoting the bejesus out of it. Writing it was easy; this was no doubt going to be the hard part. I’d never liked sales, and especially not when the product was me. But I knew if I was to sell this thing, I had to figure it out. I started from a place of zero knowledge and learned things as I went along. I also got brave. I reached out to people in the biz and sent out a slew of emails and messages to influencers on social media. In a moment of uncharacteristic boldness, I reached out to Zibby Owens, who sits at the pinnacle of the elusive world of publishing in Manhattan. She replied immediately. I cried. I mailed dozens of books to people, including Zibby, who could widen my reach and greatly expand my audience. In my own community, I had book signing parties, visited book clubs and attended a literary fair. I was suddenly very busy having a lot of fun and it was beyond gratifying to start getting all the positive feedback I’d craved about the book I’d loved writing!

My surreal meeting with Zibby in Manhattan.

But last week in New York brought it to the next level. Before I left, I sent out more emails and messages, trying my best to connect with the people with the most influence, like Jenna Bush Hager, who has replaced Oprah in creating phenomenal book buzz with her monthly pick. With extreme chutzpa, I sent more than a few emails to the Today show, informing them of my upcoming visit and my intention of handing a copy of Midlife Mischief to Jenna in the plaza (which, it turns out, is strictly forbidden, but a Page kindly offered to place one on her desk!).

I was also relentless in my pestering of poor Zibby to meet up for coffee. She was kindly responsive but remained non-committal until the last minute, so you can only imagine my jubilation when she suggested we meet at Caffe Aronne for a quick coffee. In fact, she beat me there so offered to order my coffee for me.

“What would you like to drink?” she asked.

I stared at the words on my phone and tried to decipher their meaning. It was like the Queen asking what tea I like to drink. I couldn’t remember my own name, let alone how I liked my coffee. Somehow in my daze, I managed to punch out a reply, as my dear friend sitting beside me in the cab reminded me to be calm and talk slowly.

In a modern-day miracle-esque kind of way, I succeeded in having real and meaningful conversations with both Hoda and Zibby. Maybe, they’ll read Midlife Mischief and fall in love with my story. Maybe it’ll become a Read With Jenna book and I’ll be a featured author at a Zibby Retreat! Maybe Reese will call and ask to produce the screen adaptation of my book! It might not happen right away, it may take a year, or two, or five. Or it might not happen at all. I understand that to a certain extent what happens next is entirely out of my control. But I have done everything I set out to do when I decided to publish my book on my own. I don’t have the luxury of a team working to get my book out there, making connections and ensuring success I’ve had to do it completely on my own. And for one glorious day in New York City, I was able to believe that anything and everything is possible.

On TV with my dear friend Anat!

One day, I will tell my grandchildren that I set some very lofty goals for myself, got to work and made all my dreams come true. I wished and hoped, I cried and felt defeated, and then I picked myself up by my bootstraps and gave everything I had to make my dreams a reality.

Basically, I manifested the sh*t out of it.