the first buyer
We’re sitting at a small table in a coffee shop near my home. Two writers turned sisters. As we do when one of us gets the chance to hop on a plane and get some time together, we are talking about life and writing, sharing ideas and thinking about possibilities. With our computers open, half working and half chatting, an email comes across my inbox mid-conversation. It’s a reader of my work, a mom to a daughter. They are at the starting line of the long process of being diagnosed with what most professionals in their lives believe is autism.
And this mother is struggling, asking for advice, resources, prayers, anything.
I know that feeling.
Unless you are the mother of a child with a disability, it’s hard to understand the kind of pain that comes with such a profound change in dreams for your child. It can be jarring, frustrating, and sad. It can make you angry, blame yourself, feel judged by others, question a million things. It can even make you jealous of other three-year-old children in your life, the ones who look at their parents when their name is called.
As I read the email, I look up at Ashlee, sitting across the table from me, and I tell her, “This is the third message like this in a week.”
“Katie,” she says in response, “have you ever thought about taking all of your essays about autism, putting it in one collection of work, and self-publishing it?”
//
I have always loved history. Maybe it was the Oregon Trail computer game my siblings and I fought for turns to play, or my dad often having a History Channel documentary on television in the background on weekends, but stories of the past have always drawn me in. I have a particular fascination with the history of the American Mafia – which is strange for a conflict-averse person, considering the amount of, you know, illicit contraband and grotesque murder – but that’s neither here nor there. But one subject I had no knowledge of until very recently was art history. Sure, I could pick out the Mona Lisa, the statue of David, or Girl with a Pearl Earring, but beyond that, I don’t know what I don’t know.
I recently finished this book, and while it took me a little to get into it, I found that I loved learning more about the artists profiled here, the historical context of their work, the complexities of their lives, and ultimately, the pieces they contributed to the world.
In one chapter on Vincent Van Gogh, I heard a story that is familiar to many, myself included: Van Gogh sold only one painting in his lifetime. The artist’s success came years, decades really, after his death. Despite being one of the most popular painters in the world today and having his work sell for millions, he saw virtually no commercial success in his lifetime. He sold only that one painting, The Red Vineyard, in 1890, for 400 francs – about $2,000 in today’s currency. Van Gogh’s story is often retold as a reminder that our legacy may extend far beyond our years on earth – a motivator to do the work we love no matter what kind of reception it receives from our audience. After all, we never do know how it could impact people down the road. (A noble thought, certainly. Still, tough for any artist to swallow a 99.9% rejection rate and keep going. I feel for Van Gogh.)
But what I never knew before reading more of the story, was that Van Gogh’s painting was purchased by Anna Boch, a fellow artist, a friend of his, someone who believed in him. The only reason anyone knows his work today is because of his friend.
Van Gogh, despite a short life that never did see the fruit of his efforts, had what I believe everyone needs: a first buyer.
//
The first buyer, it’s the person who sees something in you that maybe you don’t see yet. She’s there to invest her actual time, resources, maybe even finances in you. She knows you, but she’s also not interested in flattering you. A good first buyer isn’t there to set anyone up to fail or encourage them toward something that isn’t in their skill set. But, she is there to lend you a bit of belief when you don’t have it.
And belief is what every artist, every writer, every mother father nurse doctor lawyer engineer teacher scientist human, needs.
I wonder, what would the world not have, what we would all be missing, if no one ever said to their friends, “You should do that, it’s a great idea!” And, “I’ll help you.” What is no one was willing to be the first buyer?
//
With Ashlee’s idea and enthusiasm behind me, I started talking to more people about the seed she planted.
“I think I’m going to self-publish a collection of essays about Cannon,” I tell my husband. “Nothing too fancy. It would just be a book that someone could pick up and read the best of what I’ve written over the last eight years, plus some new essays and stories, all in one place. They wouldn’t have to search all over the internet. They could give it to others…” I continue nervously, still talking myself into the idea as I pitch it to my husband. “What do you think, babe?”
“Katie, I love that idea! It could serve so many people,” he responds. Two buyers.
“What would you all think about me self-publishing…” I throw out to my mastermind group, telling them about all the DMs and emails and what Ashlee suggested, explaining how I thought I could do it, what it would look like, and what my goals for it would be on Voxer.
“KATIE. YOU HAVE TO DO THIS.” Sonya says, in all caps for emphasis.
“Yes, Katie! It’s a great idea!” Sarah adds. Three and four buyers.
The mastermind group starts referring to the whole project as “our marketing plan”, “our timeline”, “our book launch”, and I never knew that one change of a pronoun could make me cry.
Then I tell my writing team at Coffee + Crumbs, my friends in the “Austin Crew”, fellow writers in the Exhale group, and eventually, a few months later, my newsletter readers. Each conversation was another step into me believing this project really was the next right thing for me. I thought of a title, then texted it to Ashlee and said “What do you think of Gluing the Cracks?” I asked.
“I think it’s perfect, friend.”
//
Six months after I set out to put together this collection of stories, I ran into the most painful life circumstances I’ve ever encountered, and I did not know if my family would be intact on the other side of them. Or where the other side of them even was. The details of that story are ours, but one of the first casualties of that season was Gluing the Cracks. While the writing was mostly finished, it still needed heavy editing and revision, design work, and a long list of logistical items that I had no margin or emotional energy to do. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to do it.
And then another email came across my inbox.
This one was not from a fellow special needs mother though, it was from a fellow creative, Kaitlin. She had heard me talking about this little project on a video call with the Exhale writing group, and she mentioned that she was so touched by it all. Her nephew had some disabilities, but more than that, she believed that getting these stories into the hands of both people who were living similar lives, or the community of people supporting those who were, was important.
“Katie,” she wrote, “would a financial investment in your project help you finish it?”
I received this email exactly 48 hours after my life took the turn I never imagined.
There is no way Kaitlin would have known that. Only a very small handful of people at the time did. Kaitlin’s message, her belief, was given straight from the Lord to her before she passed it on to me. A few weeks and messages back and forth later, Kaitlin and her family supported me and this book with the resources I desperately needed to get to the finish line. Financially, yes, but even more so, with belief. Another miraculous buyer.
//
Just over a year after that coffee shop date, Gluing the Cracks is ready to be launched into the world, with a God-orchestrated team of buyers behind it. I knew from the beginning that I wanted this project to be held close, mostly because I am so tender with Cannon’s life, but also because I am extremely sensitive to commodifying his story in any way for any kind of gain. What you’ll read in this book are raw and honest and frustrating and hopeful accounts of raising a child with autism.
It’s for you, mama, the one walking into the pediatrician with a 18-month old on your hip, thinking there’s just something about him you can’t put your finger on, but it’s different.
It’s for you, dad, when you’re some combination of angry and sad that it’s your child who can’t play on the city baseball team like you always dreamed he would.
It’s for you, friend, the one watching as your sister, your best friend, the woman in your Bible study, the mom down the street, the woman you saw at the store struggles through finding her footing in the new territory of disability. Because one of the hardest parts about raising a child in a world she’s not going to fit in is that you, and your child, are constantly misunderstood as you do. Maybe, Lord willing, these stories might give you a little bit of understanding you didn’t have before.
It’s for you, pastor, to get a peek into one reason why that family hasn’t been back at church in months.
It’s for you, teacher, to see how desperately families like mine need you.
//
Gluing the Cracks exists because of my first buyer, Ashlee. And the ones who lined up to invest in it after her: my husband and my mastermind group and my fellow writers and Kaitlin. When I say it took a village, I mean it.
I hope GTC blesses every person who reads it in some way, that it gives you the encouragement you need in the season you are in.
And I hope you, dear friend, always have a first buyer in your life.