My aunt texted me a week ago to say she got my book. She said she’d read it and pass it along to my cousin, adding that it was something to be proud of. I was chuffed.
Almost eight months ago, Eerie Whispers: Exploring Canada’s Reluctant Relationship with Its Ghostly Lore manifested on bookstore shelves and endcaps.
It’s been a surreal experience. I put so much work into that book that it almost feels like a distant dream, fading at the edges while the key anchors remain in place. I travelled to Mississauga to chat with a sheik about djinn, spent days digging through the University of Toronto library and squirrelled myself away in a Toronto library during those final three weeks before the deadline.
There’s also been a lot going on in my life lately, moments that take up residency in those liminal spaces that mark transition. During that time, I lost my biggest cheerleader, my dad. Every time we spoke, he’d ask about the book. It kept me going, even if I’d respond with the same weary sigh my wife would always call me out for.
My dad’s death is still fresh and hard to fathom. But I’m so grateful he was able to see my hard work in its physical form, even if he never got the chance to read it.
Any departure from life really does blur the harder lines of our perspective. Those existential conundrums keep many of us interested in the paranormal, searching for answers to a question I’m fairly certain will never be answered.
I’ve come to understand that everything that happens to us, good and bad, is a learning experience. But not fate. I don’t buy into destiny. We do what we do on this sphere of existence for all kinds of reasons.
But I digress.
The whole process of working with a publisher and putting 60,000 words to digital paper is hard work. Even harder with two kids, a spouse, a full-time job and, during the writing phase, a job search. But as I said, it’s a learning experience.
In my middle age, I’ve started looking at life as exactly that: an ongoing lesson. The easy parts were high school, university and getting a job. The hard parts are parenting, navigating relationship changes and advancing in a career.
So, having a book to my name, one where I get to explore, as my colleague James put it, “how the sausage is made” when it comes to Canadians and their paranormal beliefs, makes the experience all the richer. I’ve learned how a book is made.
There have been so many opportunities to connect: podcasts, book signings, which I should probably do more of, and conversations with readers. My workplace has also been incredibly supportive.
And it’s gotten me thinking about a second book. My dad used to ask how my “second book” was coming along, even though it wasn’t even on my radar. Maybe it was his way of telling me to keep writing even after he’s gone.