A Messy, Magical Book-Writing Adventure

Like any project (or change!) you dream of manifesting, bringing a book into the world requires an enormous amount of energy: personal, psychic, creative, and financial. It’s been more rewarding and wild than I ever imagined it might be. From those early days of scribbling away in a café to launching a "Kiss-Starter" campaign to fund the self-publishing, creating this book would never have been possible as a purely solo project!

For those who might be curious, here's a behind-the-scenes look at my messy, magical book-writing adventure, with a spotlight on the extraordinary folks who have joined me on the journey (so far!).

It takes a village to create a book.

In 2009, I set out to write a nonfiction book based on a university course I had created and taught for the Arts & Consciousness (A&C) programs at John F. Kennedy University. At the beginning, this mostly involved sitting in a café in Berkeley and scribbling notes in my journal while drinking too many lattes before starting work. It felt good to write whatever bubbled up, but I had no idea how to make sense of my random musings. I knew the course (Art, Archetypes and Creative Process) was profoundly transformative for the students who took it, but how could I translate that immersive, co-created group experience into a book? I kept pondering it and collecting my thoughts, unsure of how to proceed.

I had helped dozens of students complete their theses for the Transformative Arts program at John F. Kennedy University. I’d even completed my own thesis for my MFA program. But this was different. This was me. This was hard. Ego, ego, ego. I wanted it to be good, but I wasn’t sure it was—or could be. I’d never written a book before.

My good friend Liz Burke helped me transform my art school research and parts of the Transformative Arts curriculum I’d developed into a thesis for my transpersonal psychology program at JFKU. That iteration of the book was enough to fulfill my MA requirements and frame my ideas academically. In other words, it had “head.” But where was the “heart?” And “the crotch?” All three are required to make good art—at least, that’s what an art teacher once told me and my friend Nikki in a painting class. (I'll spare you the visual of how she literally accomplished that third requirement in her work!) But I digress.

I went to England. I kept writing, journaling, making art, and wondering: What the heck am I doing here?  A close friend and JFKU connection, Josepha, helped me make London a temporary home while I went through some dark patches. We made transformative art together. I met Shannon Getty, an aspiring screenwriter, and we’d sit on a couch in the cafe of the British Film Institute on the Southbank and write side by side. I was still lost, but I started to put my own story into the pages, inspired by her. I kept writing.

And then, not writing.

I came back to America. Shit happened (it’s in the book). Life was too messy to feel any sense of urgency or agency around my own creative projects. My life was a creative project. I was trying to remake it.

My heart hurt. I was healing my life and rewriting my life story.

But I still wanted to write a book. Beth Benson, a former A&C student, became one of my earliest muse-collaborators. By this time, she had graduated and was editing and book-coaching as a sideline. She printed out my messy, random mind dumps, then sat on the floor, cut them up, and taped them together to help me see, not a through line, exactly, but something more than my jumbled stream of consciousness. Maybe there was something there?  

When I asked Beth her fee, she asked me, “What does your heart want to pay?” I only had a few hundred dollars to offer over the course of a few years of working together, but it was a love exchange both ways. She took my meager thought-seeds and nurtured them until they took root.

Years went by. My confidence ebbed and flowed. Life got messy, and then messier—and so did the book. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. Honestly, I had no idea. But every now and then, I’d open my journal or laptop and water the pages with new words, letting them soak in the sunshine of my attention.

I went to Amsterdam. I signed up for a writing course, From Dream to Draft, with Sarah Bullen and Kate Emerson. Then another plot twist (it’s in the book). I postponed the course, but I had already paid. They let me postpone for a year, maybe two. When life calmed down (sort of), I finished the course. But not the book. Still, I was getting closer.

An old friend from San Francisco published his book, Saltwater Buddha. I called him. He recommended the Brooklyn Book Doctor, Joelle Hann. I took her book proposal course. I wrote a book proposal. I tried to get an agent. I volunteered for The Muse & The Marketplace, a writers’ conference in Boston. I learned a lot. I built a platform, Kissing the Muse. Agents want that. But I was torn between doing Kissing the Muse as my own personal creative spiritual practice with my friends and small community, and trying to "make it into something"—real? Wasn't it already? Why did it feel so hard? I spent more time submitting proposals and creating the platform than working on the book. It was incredibly disheartening to keep getting rejected by agents. My confidence wasn't strong enough. But the workshops and growing community I was creating were worth it, and again, I was learning so much.

I paid the Brooklyn Book Doctor to review my very, very messy, unfinished manuscript. She liked the muses ("I think you're sitting on a goldmine," she said), but not the memoir, and suggested I take that part out. I did, but it broke my heart. Yet, somehow, that step was necessary because it allowed me to really see the structure of the book as a twelve-phase "Messy, Magical, Creative Adventure."

Once again, my good friend Liz Burke entered the picture. She had started teaching for the Transformative Language Arts Network (TLAN) and encouraged me to submit a course proposal. I proposed a six-week course based on my Kissing the Muse structure. TLAN agreed, so I had to create an online course— the next iteration of the book. This helped tremendously. I was able to organize the book as a curriculum, but more playfully than when I was teaching at JFKU. I taught the first six phases as one course, and the last six phases as a follow-up course. Then, both versions, a few more times, constantly refining them. The book got clearer; each phase was a chapter. I added some of the personal stories back into the course. They resonated with the TLAN students. Maybe the memoir parts weren’t so bad after all?

Years went by. COVID. Meanwhile, I was writing, writing, writing—but not my book. I was writing copy for clients, but it was helping me become a better writer. My good friend Marshall Erskine read through the rough draft two, maybe three times. My sister read through another draft. My good friend and neighbor, Liz Sykes, also read a version. But it still wasn’t done. There never seemed to be enough time. I wanted to finish my book, and I also wanted it to be something that really, truly served. I felt compelled to keep going.

I started a Buddhist practice of chanting. It got clearer to me: I wanted to produce The Messy Magical Muse card deck first. My twist on The Brooklyn Book Doctor's advice: Muses only.  I took "The Card Deck Course" with Lindsey Smith, an agent I'd met through The Muse & The Marketplace and the creative entrepreneur behind Get It Done. I learned a lot. I also spent a lot of money producing that card deck from my own pocket. I took another online class with Get It Done, The Tiny Book Course. I tucked my learning away for when I was ready. The book still wasn't done.

I edited my uncle Ed’s memoir and self-published it on Kindle Direct. Maybe my book could be next? I hired Sarah Hewlett to start researching the rights and licenses for the poems and quotes in the book. I also needed a professional editor. For the card deck, I had worked with Bridget Watson Payne, the former editor of Chronicle Books, and she was wonderful. But for the book, I wanted to work with someone who didn't already know me or my muses yet.

I chose Jocelyn Carbonara to edit the book. It was a gut instinct, more than intentional research. After receiving an email from another writer who mentioned Spiritus Books, I just felt like she was the one. It's an investment to hire a professional editor, but Joecelyn gave me a great deal. And, she was incredible to work with and worth every penny. She gave me great feedback on the book. Based on her suggestions, I finished revising the final version during a self-created writing retreat in the homes of two different artist friends this past summer.

So, the book is magical, but it doesn't happen by magic. It takes time, money, and people. I'm a freelance writer, so every hour I spend working on the book is an hour I'm not billing to a client. I'm my own client. And that's scary. 

Earlier on in my book-writing ambitions, another good friend, Camilla Lincoln, introduced me to Rachel Herron, a bestselling author originally from the Bay Area. In addition to some wise one-on-one mentoring calls early on in my writing process (not sure when in the timeline here), Rachel ran a very successful Kickstarter for her (second?) memoir, about moving to New Zealand. Okay, maybe I can do that, too? Another brief exchange with Rachel, with some sage advice about running a Kickstarter: Give yourself plenty of time!

Heck, it took four times longer to design the Kickstarter campaign than it will actually run. But it was fun! My good friend Vilie, the designer for The Messy, Magical Muse deck, jumped in to help. But money was tight, and I didn’t want to overspend before I’d run the campaign. So I did the Kickstarter graphics myself, and the book cover's design mock-up, encouraged by my good friend, Elizabeth Perlman, another former A&C student. She spent eight years working on her book, Word Magic, which she will also self-publish this year.  I can’t wait to read it. Her weekly calls have pulled me through this process. I could have never gotten through the last few months without her.

So here we are. The crazy, magical completion of my book (almost!). And along the way, an incredible, mystically connected creative community. A community that includes YOU. (And, I didn't even mention all the amazing Muse friends who helped me refine the Kiss & Tell Ritual process during our cozy cafe collage workshops in Amsterdam over the years!).

The point of this long play-by-play? You can’t do it alone. It takes a village. Plus, a LOT of emotional energy, faith, love, trust, and persistence. Along the way, you’ll grow, stretch, stumble, meet new people, wander into rabbit holes, and discover yourself more deeply. As Dr.Seuss might say, "Oh, the places you will go if you embark on your own messy, magical creative adventure!"

So, my muse friends. No matter what your ambitions are, or your current passions or problems, please trust yourself and the process. Creative work is a strange labor of love, and also an organic unfolding. More than setting out to accomplish "a goal," it's about allowing the work, and your Self, to emerge. In the end, I hope the book is good. But more than that, I hope it serves you in your encounters with the muse as much as it has served me in mine.

Want to join the adventure? Get a full-color copy of the book when you back my "Kiss-Starter" at the Paperback Sweetheart tier — or mix and match add-ons (like the Muse Deck and Art prints) to build your own bundle! [Back the campaign →]