Brainstorming book titles, taking a leap and Do It for You.
I'm working on finalizing a title for my book.
Something that asks a story question and evokes emotion or curiosity plus could be clever but not set a wrong expectation and will grab the reader in the 1-2 seconds I have to earn a pause as she zips through book titles looking for her next new read.
So, in other words, easy-peasy.
A Guy Sends a Postcard
I’m knee-deep in Word Hippo on the screen with my hefty hard-cover thesaurus opened to my left when right in the middle of doodling on my notepad I remember this time when I was in my 20’s.
I’m living in San Francisco with my college BFF when one afternoon I pull a postcard out of our apartment lobby’s little metal mailbox that stops me cold. It’s from a guy I’ve met like twice and am attracted to. (Yes, friends, he sent me a postcard, well before texting or iPhones, as in the Dark Postal-only Ages).
He’s scrawled, “If you’re interested in getting together, call me.” Then his phone number.
Instantly, my heart leaps into flight or fight. I mean, I do like this guy. A part of me admires how he artfully just set up the terrorizing risk of putting myself out there in my court. Another part of me wants to race upstairs and flush the postcard down the toilet—fast! —so I can’t call him.
Except that somehow, I have instantly memorized his number.
Damn it.
Now I am pacing. I’ve forgotten what I was doing just seconds before flipping that postcard over to read it. It’s like a thunderous hurricane is charging through my brain and I can’t hear over the roar.
I pace faster. I am a doer; I decide I should practice talking to him. Yes, prepare for this phone call. Energy surges through me with this new purpose. I moisten my lips. “Hi there,” I croak. No. “Well, I got an interesting postcard…,” I tried. No. “Heh-heh. You crack me up…”
Gad, no.
My Heart’s in My Hand
Heart hammering, I leap up the stairs two at a time. I am disgusted. I sound worse than ridiculous. He will change his mind. I get to the apartment door and open the lock with one smooth twist. Rip off the band aid, girl. I grab the phone from the kitchen wall.
Don’t think.
I punch the number quickly. Hang up. Dial it again. Hang up. Dial it again…. OK, I do this twenty times. I can’t help myself. I am sweating. It is so, so scary to face his possible rejection. I have nothing to say. I have too much to say. I will babble. My armpits are soaked. Get a hold of yourself! Yes, he gave me a signal, invited me to approach him, but still.
He could have changed his mind.
Finally, I dial the number and whip my arm around my back so I can’t hang up, teeth clenched, forcing myself to listen to the phone ring on his end.
He picks up on the second ring. “Hello?”
I exhale. “Hey!”
We talk. I masquerade as a normal person. I relax. It’s actually fun. I don’t remember who’s telling the jokes, but we’re both laughing. We connect and set up a date.
It’s just at the end, right when the conversation is winding down when he asks one last question, “By the way, was that you calling me before? Because I got like twenty calls that never went through. Every time I answered, the phone hung up.”
“Nope, wasn’t me,” I lie.
Being vulnerable once a day is plenty.
Putting My Heart Out There Again
So, friends, you can see I have faced the terror of possible rejection before and lived to see another day. As I work on titling this book, giving it my best possible effort I am hopeful. Hopeful it can give a glimpse of the amazing person my heroine was. Optimistic that it earns a second look from a booklover. Cheerful in knowing that for those who take the risk to read it, the untold true story will be inspiring.
It’s a leap, isn’t it? Choosing to be vulnerable. Instead of adding to the artifice, swallowing that lump in your throat, and getting out there, in spite of self-doubt, in spite of the odds, taking the leap. Selecting a book title may feel like a small step (OK, it is), but it’s one more signal that there’s something worthwhile here.
Rejection. Acceptance. At the end of the day, did you show up for you?
By the way, as it turned out, I dated that guy for several months before the relationship ended amicably.
I expect your relationship with my book, Jo’s story, to linger.
Do you have a story of putting your heart on the line?
I admire you.
Tell me about it?
And now, back to brainstorming titles…
Warmly,
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