August 27, 2021 was one of the best days of my life.

It was the day I finally got what I’d been hoping and praying and working my ass off for over the course of more than twenty years: an offer from a major publisher for a novel I wrote.

I was over the freaking moon. I still am! The moon is down below and I am up here! Suspended over it like a crazy-ass, gravity-defying, space-breathing cow!

Honestly, it’s a dream come true. You write and write and write and write, get rejection after rejection after rejection, grit your teeth against the frustration and jealousy and self-doubt, and keep hoping, like a lunatic, that SOMEDAY, eventually, if you stay on the ride long enough, you’ll get that brass ring.

And when you do—when you see it there and reach out and grab it…oh man, there’s nothing else like it in the world.

I’ve savored and adored every minute of the pre-publication process so far, too, from working with my wonderful editor on revisions and copyedits, to seeing the interior and exterior designs for the book come to life, to meeting the publicity and marketing team. The very fact that there IS a publicity and marketing team assigned to my book is huge! Amazing! My memoir of yore was published with a large press, but they did next to nothing to publicize or market it. My first novel, published with a tiny hybrid press, was totally DIY on the promotional front. But now, I’ve got a couple of real, live, fancy (but, admittedly, probably underpaid) New York publishing people who give a crap about my book, getting advance copies out to influencers and early readers, helping me line up events, and starting to pitch essays related to the book to various publications.

And look, a super cool thing happened! My book got on a list! Zibby Owen’s Most Anticipated Books of 2023. That’s me right there next to Zadie Smith, which is pretty freaking awesome. I AM SPACE COW.

But here’s the thing….oh, the stupid, STUPID, infuriating thing.

I’m a space cow and I’ve got that beautiful, shiny brass ring in my hand/hoof, but lately I can’t help looking around and noticing that, huh, it seems some people have sterling silver rings, and gold rings.

Their books aren’t on just one “most anticipated” list, but multiple ones. They’re slated to be book club picks for Reese and Jenna and Good Morning America. They’ve already been sold to publishers in the UK and Europe.

And over the course of the next year, I can guarantee you I’m going to be very much aware of the fact that some people have platinum rings (Glowing reviews! Major buzz!), and palladium rings (TV interviews! Bestseller lists! Best books of the year lists!), and—goddammit—palladium rings set with enormous, beautiful, humanely sourced diamonds. (Soon to be a limited series on Hulu starring all the best and most beautiful celebrities!)

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All the while, I will be—I am!—squeezing my beautiful little brass ring, reminding myself how elated I was when I got it, how thankful I am to have it, and how many people would kill to have one just like it.

But dammit if thoughts about those other, fancier rings don’t/won’t creep in from time to time, and suddenly I’ll be all Veruca Salt, demanding an oompa loompa or a golden goose, when for god’s sake, I got a golden ticket! I’m inside the candy factory! Enough already! (And enough with the metaphors already, you’re saying. But I had to justify the title of this post, which I came up with first, not knowing I’d go the brass ring / cow direction instead. Forgive me.)

I’m trying not to be too hard on myself about my ring coveting. (See Jane furiously resist the tempation to incorporate a LOTR/Gollum metaphor…) It’s just so human, right? We get the thing we always wanted, and instead of being satisfied, we crave more. There’s always something else, something better.

There is no question in my mind that a lot of the authors with the silver and gold and even platinum rings secretly (or not so secretly) wish they had one in a more preciousss metal. I like to think that the palladium people are content with what they have, because, I mean, come on. But who knows. Maybe a few weeks after you win a Pulitzer you start thinking, Yeah, but so-and-so got a Nobel….

I don’t know what the solution is. Meditation? Ice baths? Little notes to myself around the house? I don’t even know what they would say. Maybe, Stop it! Stop being like that!

Or perhaps I could do something cute and Instagrammy, like tie an actual brass ring on a pretty ribbon over my desk, to keep me focused on and grateful for what I have. (Huh—I wrote that sort of jokingly, but now I’m thinking it might not be a bad idea…)

Or, hey, maybe I should just get the below blown up poster size and hang it next to my desk: my ecstatic reply to my agent when she texted to tell me that Anchor had made an offer. Because, damn, this moment was everything.

It might actually do the trick. Sometimes.

Happy holidays, all. Here’s to joyous, moon-jumping gratitude for whatever rings we’ve got.

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P.S. Speaking of gratitude, I realize that you have a choice of Substacks—like, a thousand more of them every day, it seems—so I truly appreciate you reading mine.

P.P.S. I’m starting to line up some book-related events for April and May, and will be adding more over the next few months. If one of them is in your neck of the woods, I hope you’ll come say hi!

P.P.P.S. Click below to learn more about and pre-order my book. Mama wants palladium. Hahahahahhahaha.