THE LIGHTNING BOLT

Inspiration struck me right in the middle of stressing about money and work, thanks in part to Henry Winkler

We’ve officially entered that point at the end of the year where no one is working, which is of course when I need work the most.

No one is going to hire or sign me in the next ten days, probably. Anyone who could is most likely very busy with their own holiday traditions, not thinking about anything more important than checking off the names on their gift lists. Which is as it should be, except I need them.

My fellow writers hopefully know that feeling when you’ve got something good and you’re certain down to your bone marrow that others will agree. It doesn’t happen often enough, but it’s happening to me right now and I don’t think I can go any farther on my own.

The Sound of Settling has sold nearly 400 copies, which I know isn’t much when you compare it to anyone with a traditional publishing deal. But as Henry Winkler said to me, it’s a big accomplishment, it’s a big deal, and I should be really proud of myself.

And I am! And you bet I’m going to drop that name and share the pictures of The Fonz holding my book every chance I get.

But ANYWAY, I don’t know what literary agent wouldn’t want an author who can inspire readers to stay up until 1 am because they can’t put my book down. Over and over, my reviews (the real ones, not the fake MAGA ones bringing down my rating) say the same things: they read it cover to cover. They fell in love with Lila. They miss Lila and Grady. They want a streaming series.

And they want a sequel. (Put a pin here, we’ll circle back)

Writers dream about a response like the one I’ve gotten to The Sound of Settling. I love this book more than anything I’ve ever written and I’m not giving up on it getting optioned.

Which brings us back to Henry Winker.

In his fantastic memoir Being Henry, he writes about people giving him suggestions about what to do with his career. His first response was always, “I can’t do that, I don’t know anything about how to do that!” Whether it was moving to California, starting his production company, fly fishing, or writing books, Henry Winkler did the self-defeatist thing by telling himself “I can’t” when he absolutely could, and did.

Maybe it’s a Jewish thing, but I do that too. I do it all the time, without even knowing I’m doing it.

When I finished The Sound of Settling—I mean, after I’d written and rewritten fourteen drafts—I spent the next three years on social media posting about how good my book was, depending on my visibility and my Dave Grohl backstory to attract interest so I could go the traditional publishing route.

I thought I needed that. I thought, I can’t self-publish, I need an agent to protect me from the MAGA people who’ll find it and slam it (which is happening, though not like it would if this was 2016).

I also thought I needed to get in touch with Dave after all this time to let him know I might have to throw his name around to get this thing going, just out of respect for him.

When neither of those things kept not happening, my friends served me my own ass on a platter, which led me to self-publishing.

I’m still waiting for the YES person to show up to sign me. I’m always going to hope to speak to Dave again someday. But I did another Henry Winkler thought thing recently, until I realized I was doing it and I’m ready to undo it.

Now is when we’re circling back to that sequel thing.

I was very satisfied with the way I ended The Sound of Settling. I’m not a neat-and-tidy ending person. Not all endings are happy. Sometimes we don’t get all of our questions answered.

But my readers kept asking for a sequel, including my own mother. Every time someone said the word SEQUEL—some are even saying TRILOGY—my Winkleresque brain replied with, I can’t write a sequel until I get an agent and sell The Sound of Settling to a producer. I have to focus on finding paying work. I need someone to buy the option so my job can be adapting it and THEN I can think about a sequel.

And then my inner Henry Winkler was struck silent by a lightning bolt yesterday when I was vacuuming.

The story told itself to me, if that makes sense. I had a title in two seconds. I knew the A plot, the B plot, the resolution, the roadblocks set up to get there, the highs and lows.

I wrote an outline of ideas and then started writing stream-of-consciousness, which is my usual M.O.

Ten pages of a decent beginning are now waiting for me in a Google doc to come back and keep going.

I know I can do this. If it’s anything like the experience I had writing The Sound of Settling, it’s going to pour out of me in a white-hot marathon of awesome. Who knows, I might have a decent draft by New Year’s Day because I have no work and no plans between now and then.

Unless there’s some amazing late-breaking Christmas miracle for the little Jewish Atheist Match Girl of Twitter.

Hey, Henry Winkler once played Scrooge, and we all know about that happy ending. So why not one for me?