The Aftermath of Publishing: Reflections on the Journey
Publishing a book is a monumental milestone, but what comes after often holds the deepest lessons.
Six years ago, I wrote my first book, The Comfortably Soaring Life of Cassia Sommersby. It was born out of a transitional season—a period marked by leaving behind the overseas missionary life, the coffee shop boss persona, and returning home to Montana to physically heal. It was during this re-start process that I started grieving community, deciding my values, and defining who I wanted to be.
At the time, I was navigating a lot: certifying my teaching license, working for the Superintendent of schools, and juggling jobs in teaching, graphic design, and church administration. Eventually, I followed a calling that led me out of rugged Montana and into the upscale unknown of San Diego where once again I was starting over. It wasn’t just a geographical move but a cultural and emotional leap of faith. Santa Fe Christian, my current school, became a part of my journey, teaching me to carry my story into a world that, at first glance, felt disconnected from it. That restart came with a long season of redefining my faith practices to a quieter, more connected and aware of myself faith.
Publishing my book five months ago has brought an unexpected clarity about why I wrote it in the first place through, of course, confronting my fears. Initially, I envisioned sharing a story that would subtly shape readers' perspectives without being overly preachy. I wanted to give teens of today a character they could see as someone who walks out faith everyday. Now, I see that the story came from a place of grief—a sadness over how cultural narratives affect people’s lives. But what has changed in me is that in my own faith, I trust God to walk the long-haul with people. I have believed things that were not true and have had to readjust. I’m pretty sure everyone has. All people have trauma of various degrees and yet, God can sort it out. I have moved from the mindset of an overprotective parent evangelist, to someone who knows the height and depth of God’s grace being with us.
The Holy Spirit was the perfect gift given to us as individuals. Yet, it turns out, He/She may not be at all about the showy things I once thought mattered. How much more do we love the friend who can sit beside us in silence while we are a falling apart mess? What if Holy Spirit is that link to God that never breaks no matter what?
The realization that I don’t need to rush the message of this book or force it to “succeed” by traditional standards has lifted a weight off me.
The tone of my book reflects where I was at the time. Yet I hope what is clear in the character’s story is the practice of humble contemplation, the confidence in God’s presence in pain, and a picture of faith in His ability to bring life even in brokenness. I didn’t write the story to make waves; I wrote it to create a space where people might find a reminder that sometimes, for nothing we do and no reason, we move God, the heavens part, and change becomes possible.
Success as a writer can come quietly, in the lives the book touches—even if that happens slowly or indirectly. Things like inspiring other people to write, or providing words to the person in a similar story. For now, perhaps I am content with people not knowing. The story remains close to my heart, and while I may revisit and rewrite it someday, I trust that its current form has a purpose.
Publishing, as it turns out, has brought me a different kind of fruit for my toil. I haven’t learned how to sell a book, but I have learned the writing process. I’ve learned how to advocate for myself. I’ve celebrated with people who shaped my life. I’ve learned to release expectations, trust God’s timing, and find peace in letting the story speak for itself. If anything, writing and publishing this book have reminded me that God’s plans unfold strategically, often beyond what we can see. I am reminded that he is in the business of people. That is often why we create, or even move cities and start new jobs. It is because who we are called to meet is so very specific and the way in which we walk with those people is where the gold dust moments and glimpses of beauty leak out.
