Publishing a book is a strange and exhilarating process. It is, for those unassociated with the industry, a surprisingly lengthy ordeal. First, of course, there's writing the manuscript (abbreviated MS in publishing circles). Depending on the author, the book's subject, and the proposed word count this can take anywhere from months to years. Then you need to place that MS. And finding someone willing to put time, money, and effort behind your book is not easy—especially for a relative unknown (like me). This, too, takes time; months or more. If you get past that phase—and a lot of good writers never do—there comes editing and proofreading. Going through the MS that you've already read a thousand times and making changes is no easy chore, even if you're lucky enough to work with a top-notch editor.
Somehow, I survived all that. It took me a lifetime to write my manuscript, months to land a publisher (big thanks to Latitude 46 Publishing), and almost a year to finish the final version of the book (even bigger thanks to my editor, Mitchell). Job done, right? Wrong!
Next comes Marketing (note the capital 'M') and the single most agonizing part of the entire process…for me anyway: getting my photo taken.
Readers, for some strange reason, want to see what authors look like. Sensing that there was an opportunity in this prurient interest, publishers have taken to including a photograph on the jacket of books. A decision many authors loath.
Now, just to be clear, I HATE getting my picture taken. Seeing a camera come out has sent me scurrying for cover for four decades, ever since I first started to notice that the images taken failed to match the version of me in my mind.
Being photographed never bothered me when I was young, as you can see from the following pictures. Note the big smile on my face in both. I'm pictured with two of my favourite people in the entire world, my grandmother (left) and grandfather (right), doing two things I love—being spoiled (my grandma no doubt had several trays of fresh-baked goodies waiting for me off-camera) and swimming (in this case at 'the river' aka the Vermillion River in Capreol).
But those pictures took place before I wound up in a wheelchair. And that life-changing move, from walking (even if badly at the end) to sitting full time, made a world of difference in how I see myself…not to mention how others see me. (Hint: Everyone always notices the wheelchair first.)
I know I'm disabled. There's no denying this fact. But, most of the time, I don't feel any different than the rest of you. My life is full of accommodations and work-arounds. Sure, I spend my days in an electric wheelchair (with power tilt seating) but I do so in a home that has been remodelled for accessibility. Everything is adjusted to be wheelchair-friendly and aide with my weakened muscles. My day-to-day life isn't full of hardship. There is, in truth, very little awareness of my handicap. Except for when I look in the mirror. And even then, there's only one mirror I encounter on a daily basis. It's in my bathroom, above the sink, and only shows my head.
Because of that placement it's easy to forget how withered my limbs have become, how grotesquely my feet have swollen, or how disgustingly fat my belly is growing. Like the saying goes: Inside every eighty-year-old there's an eight-year-old wondering what happened. That's especially true with disabled people. Our bodies may be failing us but our minds are often still sharp. Except when it comes to me and my long-treasured self-image, anyway.
Photos, however, bring all that handicapped reality rushing back. The sudden reminder of my disability and its devastatingly obvious physical consequences is always a slap in the face, not to mention a massive blow to what's left of my ego.
Though I'd have happily skipped the photography session entirely, I found myself posing for a series of photos on a cool September afternoon. Things weren't nearly as painful as I feared. My photographer, Bennett Malcolmson, put me at ease and snapped some top-notch shots. Too bad his subject, me, wasn't more photogenic. Still, though I continue to HATE seeing myself in photos, the pictures he produced are some of the most flattering I've ever seen.
Bennett produced six photographs for me and I duly forwarded them to my publisher for her consideration. I'm leaving the ultimate decision—which picture appears on the back cover of my book—to her. That way it'll be a surprise to me when JERRY LEWIS TOLD ME I WAS GOING TO DIE comes out. Not a pleasant surprise, given my feeling toward photos, but still. I can't wait. (Come get your copy Saturday, May 6th, 2023 in Capreol. Location and time TBD.)