Nine months ago we said, “Hey! Let’s publish an anthology of our essays!”
Eight months ago we found an agent who said, “I can help you do that.”
Seven months ago we put out a call for submissions and set a deadline for the first drafts. We planned to self-publish something by the end of the year.
Four months ago we broke into groups and exchanged feedback on our work and set a deadline for second drafts, which is when we realized we could use this opportunity to become better writers. We could raise the money we needed to hire the editors we wanted to shape a book we could be proud of.
Three months ago we met with a professional editor. We researched fundraising platforms. We talked to other folks who’d had successful online campaigns. We added up our editorial costs, our printing costs, the cost for a graphic designer.
Two months ago our website went live and we started posting our content. We made a video. We wrote a mission statement.
One month ago we started our Indiegogo campaign.
We’ve got three days to go before our campaign is over. At the time I’m writing this, we’ve got $5734 in contributions, plus some publishing leads that might make up for the fact that we’re going to miss our mark.
Look what you’ve done! That’s pretty good! the voices say. High fives all around! You should be very proud that you’ve done this well. Don't be too disappointed that you won’t hit your fundraising goal, the voices add. You’ve done a good-enough job. You can stop.
I get this feeling every night when I sit down to write. It’s late. I’m tired. And besides, look what I did yesterday and the day before that! I pretend it’s ok that I’m not pushing myself to write. But since it’s easier to think of something to write than it is to think up excuses, eventually I write.
Which means that I’ll keep writing and posting and tweeting for the campaign. Maybe you’ve been reading and thinking but waiting to contribute. Maybe today’s the day you click to donate. Maybe we’ll get closer to our financial goal.
Or maybe you didn't even make it to the end of this post. Maybe you gave up reading after the second paragraph.
That doesn’t matter. What matters is that I didn’t give up.
Three more days.