Well, I might as well be honest. I'm not a real blogger. I can barely understand the cyber-world. I dream of being Amish. (If you don't believe this, it may help to re-read the title of this blog. Nothing but.)
Look, I'm a person who went to divinity school to become a minister. (Now I am one.) Then I went to yoga school to become a yoga teacher. (I have taught so many thousands of classes now--amazingly enough thousands). I did not go into get-rich work. I went into help-people work. I suppose you can include motherhood among it.
Then I wrote this book. Now I'd been writing all along, stories, poems, even other novels. I wrote the book I wanted to read in my postpartum zaniness. (Um, understatement.) You know, to keep me alive.
My dear friend Elizabeth read a draft of my novel and said, "this is a ministry to mothers." Truthfully, that's what I wanted. That's what I want. So to say that's it's awkward to go forth and market myself is nothing less than honest.
On the other hand, I certainly wouldn't mind doing well. Really, really well. I've always dreamed of adopting a bunch of kids. (Truth.) And for that, so my husband says, you need cash. This is not my polite way of saying buy my book or else. (I would never do that--would I?) This is my polite way of saying how complicated this blessing really is.
And isn't that the way?