Writing a book is a leap of faith – faith in yourself, in the years-long process of producing the work, and in the belief that the written word makes a difference. It took me five years to write and publish my book, “Saving Ellen: A Memoir of Hope and Recovery” from the initial outline and first chapters to the excitement of getting an agent, a publisher, and the book release in April.

But selling the book, a far different process than writing it, has been a slog. I didn’t think Oprah would call me, but it’s been an eye-opening experience nonetheless. I now have a dawning realization of the difficulty of selling not only my book, but any book, for all but the most well-known or celebrated authors.

One issue is how in this capitalist society we measure far too much in monetary terms. Another is that we are awash in a tsunami of books: 2.1 million are published every year, or one every 8 seconds. Three quarters of these are self-published, but more than 500,000 are from conventional publishers – a huge hike from 30 years ago, when such publishers produced just 145,000 books a year.

Still. I thought the sales part of this would be easier. Other authors I follow have grappled with similar situations. Andrea Bartz, author of the “Get It Write,” substack, recently wrote a piece titled, “Let’s talk about my week 1 sales,” which were disappointing – and she’s written successful books before. Another, Leah Konen, whose substack is called, “To Tell a Story,” addressed the same topic in an article titled, “In defense of ‘failure.’” In it, Konen expressed this lovely observation: “Writers are in the business of attempting to monetize art. A horrible business! And yet, we chose it, and we do it. But the money, the outcome, the number of copies sold; it isn’t the whole picture. It maybe isn’t even a very big part of it… What we said, what we learned, what we unlocked within ourselves; it matters.”

Indeed.

Happily, I enjoy doing book events, whether at a bookstore, library or Rotary. I love meeting people who have read my book or intend to. Their observations constantly surprise me. I have had six such events and have eight more planned, posted on my website, CaseyInk. In Buffalo I met cousins I hadn’t seen in years. I met a woman who recognized her feisty mother in my book, (even though I changed her name). She came to my book event to talk with me about the friendship our families shared when we were teenagers, and the adventures her mother embarked upon when the kids were grown – including joining the Peace Corps and living in Africa for 20 years. Meeting people, talking about the book and the process of writing memoir has been gratifying.

They may or may not translate to book sales. But I do know this: I am proud of my book, glad I wrote it, and it does, indeed, matter – even if Oprah never calls.