Dearest Reader,
Last week, I shared the story of a little phrase that wouldn’t leave me alone: author care.
I wrote about sitting in a cozy Vancouver café, heart pounding, trying to explain this idea to a fellow industry pro—only to be met with polite confusion.
I didn’t blame her.
At the time, I didn’t have the language either.
What I had was a knowing.
That something in our systems, in our expectations, in the way we release a book into the world… felt hollow.
Mechanical. Performance-based. Lacking in care.
And I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t weighing on me.
Since then, I’ve come to understand that what I was trying to name wasn’t just about how we usher our books into the world. It was about how we hold ourselves. How this act of showing up is deeply connected to the creative lives we want to live. How we prepare our hearts. How we map who we are—so that when the world responds (or doesn’t), we don’t unravel or second-guess the work, or who we are.
Because here’s what happens when we skip that step:
We spin—telling ourselves that maybe if we’d done just one more reel or sent just one more pitch, things would be different.
We internalize—imagining that a quiet inbox or a lukewarm response means the book itself wasn’t worthy.
We let one review define the whole experience.
We push harder (but often in the wrong direction)—taking on more, stretching ourselves thinner, saying yes to every opportunity, even if it doesn’t align.
We start seeing “visibility” as a metric we need to chase instead of an extension of who we are.
I’ve had moments where I tried to “get ahead of the algorithm,” said yes to every interview, accepted every panel, kept my inbox open 24/7, and still felt invisible. And it wasn’t because I wasn’t doing enough.
It was because I wasn’t doing enough of what allowed me to show up as the Chelene I truly wanted people to see.
I wish it didn’t take me so long to figure that out, but here I am (lol).
Things didn’t start to shift until I began asking better, deeper questions:
What does visibility actually mean to me?
What if my message as a person was the starting point?
Where do I feel most myself? Around whom?
Who do I really want to be in conversation with—not just about my book, but about the bigger questions my work holds?
What kind of connection am I hoping for?
And perhaps the most clarifying one:
Who is the best recipient of my style—my voice, my rhythm, my worldview?
When we know who we are—and understand, intimately, the people, places, and conversations that help us feel fully here—everything softens. We stop performing and start relating. We start choosing spaces based on resonance, not reach.
And from that place, we can hold feedback with curiosity instead of defensiveness. We can weather a slow response or a missed invite without spiraling. Because the foundation is set.
The School of Life writes:
“We flare up in response to the comments of others because we are operating, deep down, with an unclear picture of who we are. We are angry because we have no reliable map of our virtues and vices, because we are oscillating between a brittle faith of our accomplishment and a bleak terror of our flaws.”
I’ve felt this in my bones. Yowza.
Years ago I remember being invited to speak about one of my books. It was a beautiful event, well-run and generous in spirit. But during the discussion, someone offered a reflection that made my chest tighten. It wasn’t even a critique—just a comment that didn’t match how I saw the work or myself.
And I froze.
In that moment, I wanted to defend the book. To defend myself. But later, I realized that the comment wasn’t the problem. The unsteadiness in me was. I hadn’t yet mapped that part of myself clearly enough to hold the moment with grace. I was still defining my worth by the way others received me.
That moment was the start of s super fabulous shift.
I began doing the slow, necessary work of defining who I am as a writer, and how I want to show up—not in response to the world, but in alignment with myself.
And eventually, this became a foundation in my work.
A quiet rhythm.
People often ask me, “How do you do so many things?” And the truth is—I’m not. While it might look like I’m everywhere—juggling different projects, offerings, and events—it’s all connected. Every piece is part of the same whole. I’m really doing one thing, with the volume turned all the way up.
Another piece of that one thing ... A course I created, inspired by my book Safekeeping—designed to help writers build their own intentional, values-led plan for launching their book with love.
I’ll be sharing more about it soon—not quite yet, but if you’re curious (which I always encourage!), you can take a look here.
For now, I’d love to offer something a little gentler: a short audio reflection I recorded on visibility (fun fact, these little audio clips are something I typically only share with my Forever Writers Community, but I'm making an exception this time, hehe).
In it, I explore what it means to pursue connection over exposure. I talk about the power of showing up fully without being everywhere. I share how saying no—with love—became a way for me to protect what matters most.
If you’d like to listen, just reply to this email and I’ll send it your way.
Reflection Question: What parts of yourself do you want to bring forward the next time you share your work?
With love,
Chelene
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