The history of a book — and, unfortunately, a disease

(Joan Bochmann wrote this essay in February, 2012, almost two years ago.  She called it the Journey of a Book, but it is much more than that.)


It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. This is probably the best known first line of any novel ever written. I have pretty much forgotten the story Dickens was beginning with this line, but the words seem to describe some of the roller coaster rides I have been on since mid-December. January 2012 brought a virtual torrent of good news, bad news, euphoria and dread. I don’t think I’ve had such a tangle of emotions in many years. Unfortunately, the first part of February hasn’t relieved the chaos all that much. 

January, 2012 was the 6^th anniversary of the publication of a book that was born in the late 70s. I completed my first novel in, I believe, 1975. After a few rejections, I was fortunate enough to hook up with an editor from Pelican and to work with her in polishing my precious novel for publication. (Best of times.) Unfortunately when my editor, who was by then a good friend, was hit by a car while crossing a Chicago street, Pelican returned the manuscript with the news of my friend’s death and their decision not to do any of her “projects.” (Worst of times.)  

I put the manuscript on a shelf and got on with life. I longed to write again, and found a few opportunities to do short stories and essays for small publications. In 2001, my sister formed a small publishing company and urged me to take another look at the book which would become Absaroka. I pulled the  typewritten (yes, I did say typewritten) manuscript from its resting place and began to read. I fell in love with the story again. I did a little more research and some editing, and my sister’s company (Raven Publishing) agreed to publish the book. (Best of times.) My efforts to sell the book were hampered by the diagnosis of Stage IV lung cancer. (Worst of times.) God saw fit to heal my illness. (Best of times)

I have spent the last four years in praise and gratitude for God’s miraculous healing. In February of this year, (2012) a PET scan revealed the cancer has returned and metastasized to other parts of my body as well! Really? (Worst of Times.) While having it come back is disappointing, it doesn’t change the joy of those 4 years God gave me.  Contrary to my lifelong dream of a beach house on Malibu, a cabin in the mountains and fans clamoring for autographs, I did not get rich. Still, having a book published, going on a couple of book tours, giving book talks, getting some good reviews and winning two awards filled me with joy and gratitude (Best of Times).

Raven made the book available for digital download on Amazon Kindle and on Smashwords, but I yearned to have the story told well on a high quality audio book.

I wanted this very much so that the people who love stories, but don’t like reading books. can hear it in a very well-done audio version. I remember when I used to commute how much I loved listening to books on tape. When my mom lost her sight, I thought of all the visually impaired people who would get so much pleasure out of listening to a good book.  

It is odd that the new cancer diagnosis came at a time when I was in the process of working with a producer/engineer and a talented reader to get Absaroka made into an audio book. I think God is with me on this. A dear friend I had not seen for several years called me out of the blue. He had just read Absaroka and wanted to know if I was interested in making it an audio book. We began thinking about all the people who could benefit from a book they could listen to and we became more and more excited. Brett had the ability, resources, and talent to engineer and promote an audio book. Sky Dance Mountain had, in fact, already done a couple of small audio books.  
    

I was right in the middle of trying to do a marketing plan, promotion and other such issues when my health really took a nosedive. Still we all moved on. I realized that the book needed a good, strong male voice to do the voice over. Another little nod of approval from God became evident when Scott Tanner agreed to do the recording. Scott is not only extremely talented, but had begun investigating the possibility of getting into this business as a second career.  

Several recording sessions ensued. We missed a self-imposed deadline because we realized this book had the potential of being really moving and entertaining piece. We decided quality was more important than punctuality in this case. Now it’s here—the official release date of February 18^{th (2012).}  Ah, the joy. A book that was published six years ago has another life, another audience. I know the story inside out; Scott had read it when it came out, but just recently re-read it, and Brett had read it just a few weeks before. Despite this intimate knowledge of the story, while listening to it, all three of us were moved to tears at some touching scenes, and held our breath in suspense as it looked like the protagonist might not win.

{Joan Bochmann fought a good fight, but finally lost the battle against cancer and the accompanying disorder, cachecia disease, September 26, 2013. She outlived doctors' predictions and was grateful for each day of life in which to enjoy her son, daughter, grandsons, and great grandchildren. Before she died, she added one more tremendous accomplishment to her list. She narrated an entire novel in spite of weakness, shortness of breath, pain and illness. The result is her amazingly strong and expressive voice on the audio edition of Miranda and Starlight.

 During her last several months, she volunteered one day a week in the business office at her church, planted flowers and took care of her house, garden, and yard—with some volunteered help from friends and neighbors. She has good days (the best of times) and bad days when the pain and nausea immobilize her (the worst of times). Her life, an inspiration to all who knew her, and her books, a joy to all who read or listen, have been and continue to be a blessing to many.}

http://www.ravenpublishing.net/Joan_Bochmann.html

A letter to Joan sent in October 2012

October 8, 2012

To my dearest sister, Joan,

The letter you sent will be a treasure to me forever. Now I’m writing one to you in answer to a question you asked me on the phone.

You asked, “Are you okay?” (Always thinking of the other person, just one of the many reasons I love you so much.)

I answered that I was fine and believed I was telling the truth. But maybe it wasn’t a complete answer. I tried to explain, but since I am not that in touch with my feelings, I didn’t do a great job.

I think we were talking about your cancer. Am I okay with that? Absolutely not!! I consider it an enemy with no right whatsoever to invade your body. And I refuse to yield to it — as if that were a choice I have. I realize it’s not, but I can and do stubbornly refuse to accept that the cancer will win.

But there is something else deep inside me that I choose to ignore. (like I said in the hospital, “I’m hanging on to my denial.”) That something is fear. Fear, not so much that you will die, but that I won’t have done all the fun things, said all the important things, asked the right questions—the ones I’ll think of later when it’s too late to ask them—fear that I won’t have spent the most important and precious moments with you, intimately sharing life, love, laughter—and maybe even some honest grief with you before you die.

Work and other distractions pile up and beneath it all is the anxious feeling that time is not waiting for me to get around to doing what I want to do, which is to be with you and share with you the things we love: Books, writing, words, the outdoors, nature, seeing new parts of the world and the people we want to meet, and doing it together. Sharing thoughts, ideas, and ideals with you. Gleaning more of your wisdom.

Am I okay? I’ll be far more okay when the cancer is gone. …

We will die. We won’t always have a chance to enjoy the things we love to share, which may be no more than each other’s presence. And when one of us dies, we’ll find a way to be okay with that, too. Don’t worry about me. I am okay with my love and longing to be with you. This is how love works, and I love you and will love you forever. I’ll never have any regrets about that.

With Love Always

Janet

Almost a year after receiving that letter from me, my sister died—in spite of my hard-held denial. Wanting so badly to beat it and see her well and robust again just wasn’t enough to save her. And so, in truth, I do have regrets. I regret time I didn’t spend with her. I regret that we didn’t get to do more of the fun things we both enjoy. I regret that I didn’t say enough, ask enough, or honestly share my true feelings and thus allow her to do the same. Oh, we talked a lot, but one never thinks to ask the important questions, to convey the critical sentiments. Stubborn denial was a hindrance to my ability to do that.

But there is so much more that I am thankful for. I’m thankful for all the time we did spend together. I’m thankful for the many interests we shared, and for all the conversations we had, both by phone and in person. I am thankful for all the years she loved me and guided me with her example. I am thankful that she wrapped me into the folds of family love, bringing me closer to all of my Colorado family.

Celebrating Joan's 78th birthday, November 2012 

I am thankful that she no longer suffers the horrible pain and illness and sorrow that she endured for so many years since the day the doctors pronounced, “You have lung cancer.”

I have no regrets that I loved her so much that I miss her each day and moment. That is how love works. I will love her forever with no regrets about that.

To answer the age-old question, Is it better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all? Of course it is. For what she gave me will never be lost although she is gone from my sight.