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A Cookbook Update


A Cookbook Update


 

Let’s start with a clear and direct update.

My cookbook, The Wiley Canning Company Cookbook, will now be published in Spring 2023.

When I first began writing my book, my publisher and I planned to release it in Spring 2022. We fully believed this was possible. We moved forward with discipline, excitement, and optimism. I was so optimistic, in fact, that I announced a publication date on our website and Instagram before completing my book and having a real-time understanding of our editing, printing, and distribution timelines. The truth is my publication date could change again. There are many factors within our control, and there are many factors outside of our control—factors that can, overnight, affect a book’s birthday, or “pub day”, such as accessibility to the supplies needed to physically create a book. Today, though, and always, I want to focus on factors that are within our control, or rather, my control: my commitment, perspective, and actions.

Commitment

I became a mother the same year I began writing The Wiley Canning Company Cookbook. When I learned I was pregnant with our son, Sullivan, I was in complete disbelief. I was also deeply grateful and so excited. Though, as I approached my son’s birth, uncertainty filled my bones. Am I capable of this? Will our bond be immediate? Will I know when he’s hungry and when he’s full? Amidst this uncertainty, there was one ever-present certainty: I was all in. I was fully committed. I was fully committed to my role as a mother. I was fully committed to my son—his personhood, his well being, his everything.

When I began Wiley Canning Company, I knew, one day, I would write a book of recipes, a book to honor all who came before me. I did not know if this book would ever be published or known outside of my immediate family, but I knew I would write it. In August 2020, one month after launching Wiley Canning Company, I met my publisher, Matthew Teague of Blue Hills Press. He wrote to me via email, and in the subject line, he typed, “Wiley Book Possibilities”. When I read this subject line, I was in complete disbelief. I was also deeply grateful and so excited. Though, as I wrote my book proposal, uncertainty, again, filled my bones. Am I capable of this? How will I manage my work as a first-time mother? Will I know when the book is truly complete? Amidst this uncertainty, there was one ever-present certainty: I was all in. I was fully committed. I was fully committed to my role as a writer. I was fully committed to my book—its development, its message, its everything.

Sullivan was born on December 07, 2020. Every day since then, I have fully committed to him. Every day, I hold him closely. Every day, I make him breakfast. Every day, he is reminded he is worthy and loved. Every day is imperfect, and we often lose our rhythm, but nevertheless, I am fully committed to him.

The same is true for The Wiley Canning Company Cookbook. Every day, I write. Every day, I create notes about how to make my message clearer and more me. Every day, I treat my book as if it’s worthy of my love because it undoubtedly is. Every day is imperfect, and I often write very little, but nevertheless, I am fully committed to it.

It is paramount to fully commit to what we cherish most. We must sew our commitments—our identity—into a coat we wear every day with honor and conviction. Every day, I wear mother. Every day, I wear writer. Every day, I clothe myself in my commitments—my identity—knowing each day will be imperfect and filled with uncertainty.

Perspective

Throughout my book writing process, there was one major factor unexpectedly at odds with my commitment: my optimism.

Optimism, oftentimes, is an asset. Our assets each have a shadow, though, and the shadow of my optimism can be a lack of realism. One lesson I learned as I wrote The Wiley Canning Company Cookbook is this: it’s critical to prevent optimism from overriding realism. One way this manifested is improperly planning for upcoming deadlines.

My writing timeline was guided by three major deadlines. Matthew provided a date for my largest and final deadline, and I assured him it was possible. Remember, I was committed. I immediately thought, “I can do this!” But, I failed to take a realistic picture of my life as a new mother and consistently account for a huge addition to my life: Sullivan. I was drawing on my experience of personal output from my pre-motherhood life, and this was unwise. I ultimately asked to adjust my largest and final deadline, and when I did, I very consciously tried to be acutely honest with Matthew, and myself, in order to meet him with realism, not optimism.

As an eternal optimist who was truly born this way, I can now see how realism can, sometimes, be more valuable than optimism. Realism can bring us relief, efficiency, and most importantly, honesty, in the long run.

This remains true in an equal and opposite direction. It’s critical to stop pessimism from overriding realism. When I ultimately asked to adjust my largest and final deadline, it crushed me. I felt naive, ashamed, and embarrassed. When I realized I could not meet this particular deadline, I wondered, “Can I do this at all?”

Of course, the answer was, “Yes.” I did not need to surrender the entire dream; I simply needed to allow it additional time.

In the name of complete transparency, my largest and final deadline was November 01, 2021. This would have set us up for publication in Spring 2022. We ultimately adjusted this deadline to April 01, 2022—exactly four months later. This, then, set us up for publication in Fall 2022. Here, Matthew and I took a realistic picture of The Wiley Canning Company Cookbook, and we agreed this book is meant to be released into the world in the springtime—a coveted season filled with farmers’ markets, bright red strawberries, and canning, pickling, and preserving. Together, we chose to commit to Spring 2023. This now gives us ample space to further edit, print, and distribute—space I sincerely appreciate. Now, I am both optimistic and realistic about our timeline, and I’m holding it softly.

Actions

In my most committed and realistic state, my dreams—dreams that carry me, dreams that bring me deep meaning and purpose—can still feel out of reach at times. When they do, I must remember my only job is to do the next most important thing. One dream may be reached tomorrow. One may be reached in a year. Five years. Ten. No matter the case, I can always do the next most important thing. I can always climb a single step. The more I do, the more I find the next most important thing—a single step—is what actually carries me. It is what actually holds me. The bite-size, consistent pursuit is what brings me deep meaning and purpose.

Every day, I can do the next most important thing. Every day, I can climb a single step. Every day, I can pursue my dreams knowing each day will require commitment, uncertainty, optimism, realism, and everything in between.

 
 
 

The graphic above was sourced from Pinterest.