Saying Yes to the Book is Just Like Saying Yes to the Dress

I’ve always tried to go in my own direction and extract fun from situations that might otherwise incite anxiety. I learned this from my mother, a painfully shy woman who’d been dubbed “the bashful blond” in school, and who also had a flair for (quietly) hosting unique gatherings. Despite a childhood filled with tragedy and an adulthood with constant disappointment and health complications, she was a practical joker who never missed April Fools Day. In what I suppose was an inheritance of her ability to hold opposite feelings at the same time, I was a reluctant figure skater who was constantly injured and hated to train, but I reveled in the spotlight, leaned into unique choreography, and designed one-of-a-kind costumes.

So when I started writing a memoir, Motion Dazzle, in January of 2021, sifting through the most devastating thing that had happened to me—my mother’s dementia and her eventual death on my son’s first birthday, the day I was hosting a zebra-themed party for him at our house—I knew I’d have to embrace weirdness in order to actually finish a draft of it.

I needed it to feel fun despite and perhaps because of the difficult subject matter. This is why I decided to create a structure that follows one day then jumps back in time. It’s why I directed the book to my son: he is the “you” at the beginning of every chapter. I elected, for a few reasons, to not name my mother until the end of the narrative. I leaned heavily on the metaphors that zebras presented to me, almost like gifts: not only the black and white composition representing the opposing states I grappled with simultaneously, namely of suffering and celebration, but also the concept of “motion dazzle,” which is the survival mechanism their stripes provide, dizzying their predators in the wild and helping them cheat death. The concept dovetails nicely with all those years I spun through discomfort on the ice, dazzling audiences while covered in sequins.

The rejections came in hard and fast: I barely had time to digest responses or feel too sickened by them before the next ones arrived.

By the time I was finished with that first draft, I had a messy manuscript containing the disparate elements of dementia, caregiving, motherhood, figure skating and…zebras. I’d set out to create something weird, but was it too weird?

Though I had an MFA in fiction from 21 years earlier, I hadn’t been centering my writing for a long time, instead focusing mostly on my career as a figure skating coach, and, before that, I was in a blur of caregiving, new motherhood, then grief. Though I continued to write on the side, my discouragement often outweighed my enthusiasm. I had another memoir I’d written right after graduate school crouching in a drawer. It had been shopped around by an agent and ultimately didn’t sell. I had several fizzled blogs, an infrequent parenting column, a graveyard of defunct pieces in my laptop, and a distant trail of bygone rejections.

In order to re-enter the publishing chat after those years away with the hopes of updating my writing bio, I decided, in 2022, to send out 100 submissions: a combination of essays, creative nonfiction, and satire pieces, some of which were adjacent to my book. The rejections came in hard and fast: I barely had time to digest responses or feel too sickened by them before the next ones arrived. I received 83 no’s that year. But seventeen editors said yes to my work.

Through that time, I kept revising my quirky memoir and processed the feedback of over 20 BETA readers. I re-worked the manuscript at least 14 times (I started to lose count), attempting to knit its themes together as tightly as possible. With shiny new bylines, I approached 25 agents. When that didn’t pan out, I submitted to 19 small presses, and after 14 months of hoping, re-strategizing, and continually re-writing, I received two offers of publication. I landed with a press that was not only thrilled to publish Motion Dazzle and leave all of its devices intact, but was also willing to format it in “stripes” at my request, with space between paragraphs and no indents.

Knowing that I’d be responsible for most of the promotion, I took on this project with the same mentality I’d once brought to my DIY wedding. I’d put a premium on fun. I’d gather the information I needed and find the courage to ask for favors. I would say yes to every idea and every opportunity.

I started populating 25 spreadsheets, from “social media posts” to “podcasts” and from “places I’ve lived” to “themes and keywords.” I wrote heartfelt notes to my dream blurbers and cried as each of them arrived. For my launch, I rented a hall and recreated the original zebra party for over 100 attendees (more guests than my wedding). Just as I had for the first party, I asked people to wear stripes…and they did.

Along the way, I’ve built new writing, caregiving, and figure skating communities.

My now 12-year-old son, who is an infant in the book, appeared in an inflatable zebra costume carrying a sign spoiling the answers of my “intense” trivia game. I planned several unconventional events in the places where I’ve lived, including at one of the oldest rinks in the country with one of my beloved coaches as a conversation partner. At the school where I received my MFA, Sarah Lawrence College, we were up against torrential downpours and a co-reader who had to cancel at the last minute. I queued up my posse of plush and plastic zebras who’d agreed to be seat fillers. My local bookstore Big Red Books, in Nyack NY has championed my book, sold off-site for my launch, and offered to host a reading with eight of my nonfiction writing students.

Since it came out in September, I’ve published a handful of companion pieces across all of my themes. I reached out to a writing friend who’s also an illustrator to see if she wanted to collaborate on a satire piece about being in the “sandwich generation.” We placed it in The Boston Globe. I tip-toed with as much humility and humor as possible into the DMs of potential conversation partners and forged new connections. Along the way, I’ve built new writing, caregiving, and figure skating communities. I’ve asked for all kinds of help, then experienced the thrill of providing my own in return, something I intend to be doing for many years to come.

In saying yes to my unconventional book, and trying everything in my power to get it out there, I’ve created the opportunity for others to say yes to it as well. Readers are messaging me that they cried, that they related to my story, that they have also made regrettable mistakes while caring for an aging parent. An old friend told me my book made her want to be a better person and show up for people in her life more. A waitress serving my table at a restaurant overheard me talking about my book and asked about it. She proceeded to listen to the audiobook then messaged me that she’d recently lost her dad and my book provided comfort. I’m in awe that my story is touching people. It’s apparently not too weird, after all. Maybe we’re all weird and this book is just weird enough.

If you also have a weird book inside of you, congratulations. I encourage you to yes it onto the page, yes it into the world, then do everything in your power to yes it into the hands of readers.

__________________________________

Motion Dazzle by Jocelyn Jane Cox is available from Vine Leaves Press.