Monday Notes: In Search of a Salve Gratitude

~ kegarland ~ 34 Comments 
No man is an island, 
Entire of itself;
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
John Donne, “No Man is an Island”

A lot of times, I feel as if I’m doing things independent of help; however, I know this is not true. Therefore, I would like to express gratitude to and for the following:

Thank you to anyone who purchased In Search of a Salve.

Thank you to anyone who read In Search of a Salve.

Thank you to every reader who wrote an honest review of my memoir on Amazon, Goodreads, B&N, Audible, and/or their personal blog.

“Never apologize for asking for a review!”

blogger, who shall remain anonymous

Thank you to the woman who said, “Never apologize for asking for a review! I was happy to do it…” Asking readers for reviews is not an easy task, and she made feel less shitty about doing so.

Thank you to my friends and colleagues who helped me plan book events in different cities.

Thank you to the independent bookstores who were welcoming, especially 57th Street Books in Chicago, Chamblin’s Uptown in Jacksonville, Florida, and the Happy Medium Books Café in Jacksonville, Florida.

Thank you to Dr. Dinardo and St. Clair College’s Student Resource Center in Windsor-Ontario, Canada.

Thank you to people who attended book events.

Thank you to my friends from high school, who flew from out of town to attend a book event and to those who came directly from work in the middle of the week.

Thank you to those of you who recommended In Search of a Salve to your friends and family.

Thank you to the friends who bought books for their friends.

Thank you to the friend who bought extra books and passed them out to strangers on her flight, in other cities, and in general.

Thank you to those of you who have connected me with other creatives and thinkers in order to collaborate.

Thank you to the friend who sent Carolyn Myss’s team a note about why I should work with her.

Thank you to the adult adoptee community, who has embraced me from Day 1.

Thank you to the friend who said, “If you want me there, then you’ll have to include K E Garland.”

Thank you to the book clubs who have purchased, read, and invited me to speak.

Thank you to U.S.G.I.R.L.S. book club, whose members have been early supporters of my artistry.

Thank you to the friend who recommended I interview with Canvas Rebel.

Thank you for the numerous podcasters who trusted me to be on their shows.

Thank you to the podcaster who said I have to be “a best-seller or famous award-winning author” to be on her podcast, but agreed to read Salve, wrote a review on her other blog, and then gave the book to her mother to read.

Last, but certainly not least, thank you to the love of my life, who ceaselessly tries to understand my motivation for the things I do on this earth, and even when it doesn’t make a tap of sense in the physical world, he trusts that what I’m doing is the right thing not only for me, but sometimes, for us.

Monday Notes: In Search of a Salve: By the Numbers

~ kegarland ~ 56 Comments

One year ago, September 26, 2023, I published In Search of a Salve: Memoir of a Sex Addict! I am three days away from my one-year bookaversary, so today, I thought I’d celebrate by talking about numbers.

BOOK SALES

According to Google Gemini, the average self-published book sells 250 copies, but 90% of self-published books sell less than 100 copies over the lifetime of the book. Chris O’Brien confirms these lifetime numbers and he says the reason depends on several criteria, ranging from how hard the author works to market the book to how big of a social media presence the author has. As an indie author, I can also validate these stats. My first two books, The Unhappy Wife and Daddy: Reflections of Father-Daughter Relationships reached a little beyond 600 in total sales over the course of eight years.

But In Search of a Salve? I’m happy to report that I sold 90 copies in the first nine weeks. As of today, hard cover, eBook, and audiobook sales, as well as online and in-person have totaled close to 300 in the first year. They say, “Comparison is the thief of joy;” however, I’m feeling joyful as hell about these numbers. They are above average for indie authors, and I’m proud of myself.

PODCASTS

Over the past twelve months, I have been on twelve podcasts. The first was SA (Sex Addiction) Speakeasy. To secure this recording, I cold emailed the host, Roy Kim. He was happy to have me on because rarely do Black, female recovering sex addicts write books, much less speak in public about their journeys. After that, I paid to be a guest on Black Authors Matter TV (I do not recommend being on their show or paying to be a guest on anyone’s show). After those first two, I was invited to speak on the remaining podcasts, and guess what, one of them paid me to tell my story, not the other way around!

I’ve tried hard to choose a favorite, but it’s impossible because even when the topic was the same, each was different. For example, I’ve been on four adoption podcasts; however, one focused on the addiction piece, something that many adoptees struggle with, as opposed to another, which focused on what adoption was like for me as a child. Outside of adoption, other podcasts were about the writing process, but still, each had a different angle. Either way, interviewing helped me develop confidence in explaining why I wrote this memoir.

BOOKSTORES

Three independent bookstores in three different cities hosted me for book events. As I’ve mentioned before, this is no easy feat. The first was 57th Street Books in Chicago. I have no shame in explaining that this occurred because my friend, Dr. Duane Davis set it up because he knows the bookstore owner. Based on my experience with bookstores, there is no doubt in my mind that had I tried to do this on my own, it wouldn’t have happened. I’m grateful for the hookup, though, because it allowed me to celebrate publication among a lot of friends, a few bloggers, and my sister and niece.

The second bookstore that was kind enough to host me was Tall Tales Bookstore in Atlanta. Although only three people showed up for the event, I am still grateful that the owner agreed to have me speak there. The third bookstore that allowed me to have an event was Happy Medium Books Café in Jacksonville, Florida. Dana is new at bookstore ownership. I’ve repeatedly joked with her that she hasn’t been in the business long enough to be jaded, which is why she’s so nice. The real reason is that Dana is very community centered. Her calendar is always full, and she embraces being a part of the Jacksonville arts culture. No matter the rationale, I’m grateful because I was able to have a virtual Q&A there.

BOOK PRIZE

Last, but not least, Salve was long listed for one book award—Santa Fe Writers Project Literary Award (2023). I didn’t win, but the reviewers did say, “this is a powerful memoir, one that needs to be told,” and they encouraged me to undergo another round of revisions because I “have access to a niche that can make this a bestseller.” Considering how mean people are in the industry, this was a very kind way to support.

Also, I’ve written before about the importance of entering one’s work into contests. It’s not always about winning. For me, the relevance of these prizes is that they add value to one’s CV and work as a writer. Adding that Salve was long listed strengthens my bio, especially when I apply for grants, fellowships, and residencies. Although it’s not fair, judges of other competitions that require resumes tend to have more faith in you as an artist if they see you have a track record. So, again, even though I didn’t win, I’m thankful that someone thought my memoir was noteworthy.

Welp, those are the numbers that have mattered to me. Again, I’m hella proud of myself for writing this book and choosing a process that suited the goals of the project at the time. It has paid off and met my personal definition of success.

It’s Salve’s one-year anniversary. I’ll be sharing thoughts, impact, and commentary all month!

In Search of a Salve: Questions & Answers

~ kegarland ~ 24 Comments

On July 20, 2024, I hosted a hybrid Q&A for Salve. Even though the event lasted 1.5 hours, unbeknownst to the virtual host and me, the live link stopped working and dropped everyone 45 minutes in! Ever since I realized this, I’ve been recording answers to individual questions for those who asked (before the live dropped) and for those who were in attendance but didn’t get their question answered.

I thought I’d share them here.

  • Q1: At one point, you said, no one leaves their parents’ house unscathed (which is for sure a word) and wondering if/how this beautiful book made you consider your own parenting. ANSWER
  • Q2: Can you talk more about the idea of self-therapy or self-education for healing? ANSWER
  • Q3: Can you talk about the difference between being addicted to substances and behavioral addiction, because it doesn’t seem like it’s quite the same? ANSWER
  • Q4: Did you find any parallels between the way you self-medicated with sex and the way you chose self-healing/self-therapy? ANSWER
  • Q5: Were you ever concerned about what your family would think or how they’d feel while you were writing the book? ANSWER
  • Video #6: Sex addiction is an intimacy disorder.

It’s Salve’s one-year anniversary. I’ll be sharing thoughts, impact, and commentary all month!

Monday Notes: The Greatest Gift of Publishing In Search of a Salve

~ kegarland ~ 31 Comments

An unexpected consequence of publishing In Search of a Salve is that I’ve reconnected with friends from my past. These connections have manifested in different ways and for varied reasons. For example, months after publication, my friend, Mika texted me letters, postcards, and photos I’d sent to her from the time I’d moved from Chicago to Covert.

In bubbled cursive I wrote:

So, like I told you to do, I’ll just say fuck them … Joëlle, Daddy (at times), Tom, Najja, Shani …

Y’all. The list of who was getting the proverbial middle finger was long. In this letter, I also had a contingency plan for what I would do, should I begin to be “depressed again.” Today, it is common practice for one to announce their depression, whether self-diagnosed or clinical. But in the early 90s? Depressed was not a household term. Using this word affirmed that my body and mind knew something was wrong. I just had no clear way to communicate it to the adults around me.

In my handwriting, I also illustrated the dawn of my descent into addiction. I stopped saying “eff everyone,” and began talking about “all of the boys.” Then undergrad began, and letter writing ended.

I’m grateful Mika showed me these artifacts. Each word validated the core content of my memoir.

In undergrad, I used to hang out with a guy we’ll call Dan. As I reminisce, I’m sure we were quite the pair walking around campus: Me, a five-foot-tall girl and Dan, a four-hundred-pound boy. We were close for a few semesters and held sporadic convos post-graduation. Ordering the book brought him back into my sphere. He texted this:

You have always been self-aware and unequivocally you! Look at what you’ve achieved. Look at what you’re going to achieve. You get your flowers now!!!

Then he added:

I beat up 2 people that spoke badly about you…everyone knew that if they had a problem with you, they had a problem with my big ass…

There was a time during college, where my reputation preceded me. But by the time Dan and I became friends, I’d slowly abandoned social scenes and secured a relationship with my now husband. However, people were still gossiping, and I was oblivious that I needed defense. Years later, I am grateful that he shared this with me. It felt good to know someone had my back at a time when I felt no one did.

A person I met in seventh grade read Salve, and we reconnected over themes of the memoir. The book touched her life in numerous ways. One day, we had a conversation about how much we related to watching Amanda Seales discuss autism and giftedness in an interview with Shannon Sharpe. Seales also disclosed how reading and using The 48 Laws of Power had helped her interact with people.

“I think I need to read that book,” I said. “Sometimes, I don’t think people get what I’m saying.”

“B*tch,” middle-school friend started. “You just wrote a book called, In Search of a Salve: Memoir of a Sex Addict, where you virtually said, ‘this is my experience, and f*ck you if you don’t understand it!’ You shouldn’t be walking into rooms trying to manipulate people or meet them where they are. You should be raising the vibration of every room you walk into!”

Her lecture continued, and I quieted myself. By the end of it, I agreed. In the past, I’d tried to fit in, so I could belong. Whether it was with family, in-laws, or friends, I didn’t want to be different. Today? Not at all. Talking to this woman has helped me to consciously change how I move in the world. I stopped mumbling the subtitle of the book, and instead, began saying it “with my chest” as a few new friends have encouraged me to do.

At the end of our convo, seventh-grade friend added, “Every time I talk to you, I’m going to pour into you.” So far, she’s kept her word, and I’m grateful.

There have been more reconnections, each with their own benefits. Many surface-level conversations have shifted to the soul-level. People are returning to therapy or finding independent ways to release the traumatic experiences they’ve buried. Due to Salve, people are seeking ways to live healthier lives.

Furthermore, I’m thankful for these conversations because friends have reminded me that they’ve always known who I was, even when I was trying to hide from it or figure it out. Thus far, reconnecting with friends has been one of the greatest gifts of releasing In Search of a Salve.

It’s Salve’s one-year anniversary. I’ll be sharing thoughts, impact, and commentary all month!

Writer’s Workshop: Indie Publishing Woes for In Search of a Salve

~ kegarland ~ 41 Comments

In an age of curated information and toxic positivity, I want to be as honest as possible about my experience as an indie author. After all, everything hasn’t been rainbows and unicorns.

BOOK BLURBS

One of the first things that disappointed me is when I used my six degrees of separation to ask a well-known author to blurb In Search of a Salve. The answer was no. I wasn’t given details, and honestly, I prefer it that way. Not a big deal, I thought. I’ll just move on to the next ask. I was good, until I saw that the author had blurbed a book, which I didn’t think was very good. Months later, I saw the author’s written blessing on another book that I thought was not great. It hurt to see the author cosign others’ books and not mine. And although you shouldn’t, it’s hard not to take these things personally. It’s the kind of thing that causes imposter syndrome to resurface. However, I forced myself to move through this emotion. Ultimately, I received the blurbs that were made just for me. Thank you to Erica Garza, Marnie Ferree, Camille Hayes, and Josh Shea.

INDIE BOOKSTORES

As an indie author, I thought it would be seamless to shelve my book at independent bookstores and to hold events there. I was wrong. All independent bookstores do not support independent authors. Not only can garnering their support be more challenging, but also, some owners are not very kind.

For example, there was the Detroit bookstore owner who said, “If you want to talk about your book, then you should just have a house party with your friends and family. You don’t have to have it at my bookstore.”

A Kalamazoo bookstore owner told me to email him the details of the book reading. Then, he never returned the email. When I followed up, he instructed me to email again. A month later, he replied and said they were booked and that I should’ve contacted him sooner.

A bookstore owner in Charlotte, North Carolina said she doesn’t shelve indie books at all. One requirement for a bookstore owner in Jacksonville, Florida to carry an indie book is that it has to have 100 Amazon reviews, a goal that seems to be nearly impossible.

Thank goodness I didn’t focus on these responses. It opened space for places like 57th Street Books, Tall Tales Bookshop, Chamblin’s Uptown, Medu Bookstore, and Happy Medium Bookstore & Cafe to support my art and me.

PROFESSIONAL REVIEWS

I knew prior to publishing how important it was to attain professional reviews. Therefore, early on, I chose Kirkus. Kirkus has an independent publishing section, which means your book is not rated against traditionally published books. It is a paid review that is respected in the literary community.

When I submitted my $450, I understood the fee was for an honest review, not necessarily a good one. However, I didn’t think the commentary was going to sound a bit judgy and include spoilers. Thankfully, two things helped me not to brood over these results. First, my sister suggested I reach out to the company to see if the review could be revised. I was happy when the answer was yes. I completed their process to request a revision; subsequently, they made a few changes. Next, I submitted to the BookLife prize. Similar to Kirkus, BookLife has an indie section, and in addition to being entered into their contest, you can receive a critic’s review.

Not only was my BookLife review much more pleasant, but I also received an 8.2/10, and Salve was rated #32 in a long list of entries.

I would not be truthful if I said I’m grateful for these experiences. I am not. However, enduring them has reinforced lessons I still needed to learn, like how to move through challenges without taking things personally or agonizing over disappointments when things don’t go my way. And I’ve learned not to dwell on the so-called bad, so I can move through and receive what’s meant for me.

It’s Salve’s one-year anniversary. I’ll be sharing thoughts, impact, and commentary all month!

Sunday Shorts: I Am My Mother, My Mother Am I

~ kegarland ~ 36 Comments

A lot of people ask me what my family thinks about me publishing, sharing, and talking about In Search of a Salve: Memoir of a Sex Addict. I typically guess how everyone feels, but with my youngest daughter, I haven’t had to wonder. I know she is proud of me and the overall message, not only because she’s told me, but also because she’s shown me. For example, her +1 to the book release was a good friend; she bought a plane ticket to the Canada book reading; she gave the book to two friends to read; she invited two friends to the Q&A.

Somewhere in between my writing Salve and her reading it, she shared a poem with me, I AM MY MOTHER, MY MOTHER AM I. Subsequently, I asked her to read it at the book release brunch. It was the first time she’d publicly shared her writing.

With her consent, I’ve shared the poem below, and because I believe poetry should be experienced orally, I’ve also included the video (compliments of my sister).

I AM MY MOTHER, MY MOTHER AM I

no- I mean I am not my mother I am me
she is her mother and that is not me.
I mean-
cut from the same cloth but her’s is rough 
and mine is soft
her’s here to patch the holes mine came 
with,
but for some reason i still feel this breeze 
where it’s not meant to be.

we didn’t even meet until i was sixteen.
there was no me.
until things got real, and
i started burning trees to warm the breeze…
sometimes it works sometimes it doesn’t.
one thing for sure, two things for certain, i 
wasn’t 
turning into her.

we have stark differences.
her anger conjures curses with enough spirit 
to leave generations after you in shambles if 
you let it you’ll never hear the end
she’ll do her best to stretch you like a rag 
and wring you of all the confidence you 
thought you had.
she’s stubborn.

i am not. i know when im wrong, it’s just not 
often.
you make me mad, i start plotting 
to take all you got until there’s nothing left to 
do but feel how i felt.
i’m simply strong-willed.

some say we look alike but i really dont see it.
of course we share this smile, bright enough 
to make a blind man squint
and a glare that makes folks regret they 
even stared in this direction
a mouth with lips so full you have to beg us 
to stop talking
for we have so much to share from this 
brain that moves a mile a minute
and won’t slow down no matter the task, 
problem or obstacle.
we are brave, we are powerful, we 
transcend the tests of time.

(so i guess)
at the end of the day, every day, after i put 
my bonnet on, turn off the tv, and close the 
blinds
no matter how hard i try, (i guess)
I am my mother my mother am I.

It’s Salve’s one-year anniversary. I’ll be sharing thoughts, impact, and commentary all month!

Monday Notes: The One Thing Publishing In Search of a Salve Taught Me

~ kegarland ~ 54 Comments

Responsibility.

When I first published In Search of a Salve: Memoir of a Sex Addict, I knew I had been gifted some responsibility, but I wasn’t entirely sure what. I knew I was tasked with telling the unadulterated truth about my life experiences, but I wasn’t sure exactly why. Time showed me the answers to both.

Chapter one of my memoir begins with a description of masturbation, but not the sexy porn kind. In this chapter, the reader learns that my venture into self-pleasure was induced, at the age of nine, by child-on-child molestation. My editor and I had several discussions about how to begin this chapter. I’m glad we settled on this intro. Since publication, many readers, women and men, have confided in me that they, too, were sexually molested in a similar way. They’ve also confessed to other types of molestation, some are like the one I describe in chapter two and others much worse. Like me, they’ve lived with a secret and the shame that accompanies such acts.

Rarely is child-on-child molestation discussed. It was my responsibility to not only illustrate a marginalized type of sexual assault, but also to show readers how something that seems insignificant can still wreak havoc in one’s life.

Salve is a story about how unresolved trauma led me to a behavioral addiction. One of the unresolved traumas I experienced is adoption. Adoption is not usually explained as traumatic. That is because the mainstream narrative is centered on the adoptive parents and their beneficence, not the child who was taken from their mother and father. Babies, children, and teenagers don’t have the language to say, “I’m hurting because I miss my mother.” Instead, they may display one of the 7 Core Issues of Adoption, or like me … all of them.

It is becoming more common to hear from adoptees, but in many ways, we are still silenced. No one seems interested in hearing from us because it ruins the vibes. As an adoptee, it was my responsibility to tell a story that amplifies adoptee voices to demonstrate that no matter what adoptive parents think, many of us are not okay.

This book is about my personal healing journey. I’ve read a lot of memoirs, and I’m always disappointed with the ending. Generally, the author takes us through the ordeal of their life in hundreds of pages. Then, when we get to the end, they’ve miraculously “healed” by doing several rounds of ayahuasca, taking a trip to to some island or Asian country, or sitting in individual and/or group therapy for twelve weeks. As someone who will be on a healing journey for the rest of her life, I knew that type of ending would be inauthentic.

I felt a responsibility to share what “healing” really looked like. Healing is messy. Healing is being triggered and re-triggered. Healing is having tools but not wanting to use them because negative coping mechanisms are the easiest to access. Healing is falling a fucking part and then putting one’s self back together with some type of support system. One reader said he was mad because my marriage wasn’t wrapped up with a bow. Then, he revisited it and changed his mind. “This is how life is,” he said. And that’s when I knew I’d met my responsibility. I am not here to provide Hollywood endings. I am here to help usher in the truth of a matter, no matter how painful.

I cannot express how proud I am to have been gifted with this responsibility to demarginalize issues, and after many decades of lying to myself and others, to tell the truth and foster healing for others. I do not take it lightly.

It’s Salve’s one-year anniversary. I’ll be sharing thoughts, impact, and commentary all month!

Monday Notes: Blueberries

~ kegarland ~ 114 Comments

I moved to Covert, Michigan to live with my grandparents the summer of 1990, June to be exact. I was seventeen. My grandmother had tasked me with finding a job for the summer, and when I wasn’t successful, she decided I would make money working on her friend’s blueberry farm.

I’d like to remind you that I was born and raised on the West Side of Chicago. I had never seen a fruit farm. However, my grandmother has also never been the type of person with whom you argue, especially not at seventeen. So, I put on my designer jeans and the kind of straw-brimmed hat you wear by a pool, and I rode with her to the farm.

Someone had decided it was a great idea for me to actually pick the blueberries. I grew more miserable as I rolled each blue ball between my fingers and dropped it into the pail. How did I get here? What can I do to not be here? That’s all I kept thinking.

Around noon, my grandmother’s friend came to get me. Apparently, I wasn’t picking fast enough for a profit margin. She thought it best to move me inside, where her family worked to check for bad fruit and pack the good ones. Although I was no longer picking, I still lamented my current position. What am I doing sitting in this shed packing blueberries? I should be home. I should be hanging out with my friends at the Water Tower.

I don’t remember why, but I didn’t have to return the next day. I’m assuming it’s because I wasn’t very good at it or maybe someone noticed I did more daydreaming than packing.

Decades went by, and I refused to eat blueberries. No blueberry pie. No blueberry jam. No blueberry muffins. You know how they give you a fruit cup at a restaurant? I’d eat everything, except the blueberries. It wasn’t that blueberry picking was so horrible. It was more that the circumstances surrounding how I ended up living in Covert (i.e., my mother dying and my father kicking me out of the house) and completing senior year there incensed me to my core. Blueberries reminded me of that year and the one before it, and for a long time, that experience was something I didn’t want to even think about, let alone eat.

I want to be super clear here. I didn’t consciously stop eating blueberries.

One day someone asked, “You want some blueberries?”

And I said, “Nope. No, thank you.”

I didn’t offer an explanation or biographical context. No one would ever know that I avoided this small, blue fruit because it triggered me in inexplicable ways. It’s something I unconsciously chose.

Today, I am fully aware that I made blueberries the issue, instead of recognizing the issue as the issue. People do this all the time, though. I don’t want to get all psychology here, but it is related to our amygdala and triggers, which can range from seeing blueberries to seeing someone raise their fist in anger.

There is always hope, though. As I began to heal from each phase of abandonment, I no longer avoided blueberries. First, I used frozen ones for smoothies. I mean, baby steps, right? Recently, I’ve begun buying them fresh from the store and popping them in my mouth for a snack. They’re not so bad. I see why they’re popular.

I suppose we all have our own “blueberries.” The key is when you realize what they are, to seek help as soon as possible. Otherwise, the next thing you know, you’re out here avoiding blueberries and missing out on delicious fruits 😉

Buy In Search of a Salve