I thought I would update this blog more often, but somehow, time has spun away and here we are, five months after publication, and I’ve finally sat down to gather a few thoughts about having Peach Blossom Spring out in the world.
Short version: It’s been incredible. I’ve loved the festivals and events. I’ve loved meeting readers and hearing their thoughts on the book. I still can’t get over the thrill of holding my book in my hands or seeing it in a bookshop or library. Sometimes I look at it and think: how did this happen? What confluence of luck, necessity, love and work brought this into being? And do I get to do it again? I’m going to try.
The longer version: Here are a few more thoughts on what I’ve learnt and what’s ahead.
What have I learnt?
That I like it when the book opens a bigger, broader, full-hearted discourse around themes in the story. It feels good to take part in these conversations, whether around character and craft, questions of heritage and family, or understanding the complexities and complications of diaspora. I have learnt so much and feel humbled when people share their stories and insights with me.
That some of the things I daydreamed might happen haven’t happened, and that’s okay. Publishing a book is a funny business. Part of the job for each author, I’ve realised, is figuring out what constitutes individual success. It’s all too easy to hope for and chase numbers, ranks and listings ad infinitum. If you reach a particular external goal, you’re immediately hungry for the next. Exhausting. In all honesty, I needed to do a fair bit of mental work to focus on the gifts of having a book out in the world instead of spiralling into feelings of envy or comparison. That work made the next learning possible to notice.
That if you can figure out how to offer something to the world, without strings, without expectations, you allow yourself the possibility of surprise at what the world offers back. People have found connections and meanings in the book I neither saw nor expected. The range of people who I’ve either met or reconnected with because of the book is deeply satisfying. I have heard from my mum’s friends, my friend’s mums, past teachers, childhood friends and acquaintances, my first babysitter, my first babysitter’s daughter, university and grad school friends, acquaintances in the village, complete strangers, fellow writers, and the list goes on. It’s delightful to connect with all these people in new ways. My book made it possible!
Another unexpected joy of writing and publishing my book has been the chance to gain an appreciation of how many ways there are of holding one’s heritage. In my case, I speak of Chinese heritage, but the richness extends across diasporas. For me, learning a breadth of experiences chips away at the impostor syndrome in realising that there is no one way to be from any particular tradition. Cultures are not monoliths.
That I have really, really good friends.
That story matters. A lot.
Here’s something I’ve been thinking about:
One of the questions that plagued me while writing and editing was the question ‘Who is your audience?’ Ultimately, I realised that this is not a useful question for me. Inherent in the decision to publish a piece of writing is a relinquishing of control over who reads the work. To publish is to make public. What is public is open to any curious eyes. Trying to guess who might read my book and shape my words accordingly was impossible. There were too many variables. This question left me paralysed with worry about future readers whom I couldn’t know and whose responses I couldn’t anticipate. More useful for me was: Why are you writing this? If I was stuck, I would journal on this question and, over time, my answers evolved and expanded. Articulating why I was writing, whether it was a particular section, a character, or even the book as a whole, focused how I was writing and what I chose to include.
We don’t know who our audiences will be. I find that an incredibly exciting aspect of publication. Once you release a book, it finds its own ways in the world. The relationship a reader has with a book and its characters won’t be the same that an author has while writing the book. As much as I enjoy hearing from readers, what happens between a book and a reader is, to a large extent, not the writer’s business. I feel like this lets me off the hook and I can look ahead.
So what lies ahead?
Over the next months, there are a few events to come with fellow writers. On September 13th, 5.30 Pacific Time, I’ll be in conversation with Mai-lee Chai for a virtual event at Book Passage, discussing her new collection Yesterday In Shanghai. And on 12th October, at Yu & Me Books in NYC, 5.30 – 7.00, I’m looking forward to chatting with Jack Wang about our books. In many ways, I feel like his collection, We Two Alone, is already in conversation with Peach Blossom Spring. How exciting to get to meet in person!
I’m also very much looking forward to a series of events here in the UK as part of the East and South East Asian (ESEA) Heritage Month celebrations. My friend and fellow writer Yin F Lim and I are offering a 3-hour writing workshop that explores and celebrates ESEA heritage and experiences. We have two sessions: Cambridge on 10th Sept and Norwich on 17th Sept. Curious to join us? More details here. And on Sept 24th, I’ll be joining Elaine Chiew (The Heartsick Diaspora) at the Museum of the Home in London for a conversation about themes of home and displacement in writing followed by a mini workshop exploring the creative tensions between making a home, leaving a home, and carrying a sense of home within. Keep an eye on my events page for more details on all of these.
But looking even further ahead, I’ve been working on a new project in the background. Over the past months, a momentum has been growing. Pulled by research, by characters, and by things I don’t understand and can’t stop thinking about, I’m ready to step on a boat that’s leaving soon, sailing to a new terra incognita. The safe mooring of ‘having published’ or ‘having finished’ is starting to recede. It’s time to lose and find my way once more on a sea of words. The horn is blowing, the flags are waving, and it’s time to set sail. With fair winds, friends, I’ll be back in some time with a story or two to tell.