Most people don’t know the real reason why opening a children’s bookstore has been a godsend for me. There are plenty of reasons why no one knows, the largest of which is because I didn’t want anyone to know, and so I didn’t tell them. I’m not even sure why it feels like time to share it now, but it may be because I know, somewhere deep down, that people will find out about it soon enough.

Last September I got sick. I didn’t think much of it because I’ve never been a pillar of health. But as I sat at my desk at work that day editing some book or other, I had the sudden need to vomit. Not just that; I couldn’t stop. I figured I’d go home since it was probably a stomach bug or maybe even the flu. Other than the fact that I was throwing up, I felt completely fine.

(I will interject here that there is no way that I was or have been pregnant, so that isn’t even a consideration. I’m single as single can be. And yes, that is the first thing people assume.)

Days and weeks passed, and I continued to throw up, often very violently and several times a day. Doctors couldn’t find anything wrong. They tested for everything under the sun. I even went through a cycle of antibiotics because we thought it could be giardia (waterskiing, never again). After about three weeks of constant, daily puking, I started to feel better. But then a few days later I was back to vomiting and it didn’t let up for two more months.

If you’ve never thrown up or at least not much, I don’t know if you can imagine how horrible it is. Day in, night out there was nausea so severe I couldn’t even sleep, let alone eat or read or work—even after taking anti-nausea medication. I drank water or Gatorade whenever I could, just to stay hydrated, but that didn’t stop the vomiting. Often, I wouldn’t have anything in my stomach other than water, and so that was all that would come up. When the water was gone, it would be dry heaves. Days and weeks and months of vomiting.

We ruled out everything imaginable in every way possible: blood tests, stool tests, colonoscopy, endoscopy. I was poked and prodded and pinched till I was ready to scream for the lack of answers.

Then it stopped. It may have tapered a bit toward the end, but it was almost as sudden an ending as had been the beginning. We didn’t have an answer for the past three months, but I felt fine, so I wasn’t going to complain. I went back to work after being on-again-off-again on medical leave.

Two months went by. Then the vomiting started again. I knew how it felt then, and how horrible it was to be hunched over a bowl or bucket or toilet for hours a day. And I feared it would be just as awful as the first time. So I started back to the doctor’s office, draining my health, my strength, my will, and my bank account.

Then one night, in tears of frustration and anger, I scoured the internet to find something, anything, to explain what was wrong with me. I googled “weird vomiting disease” or some such. That’s when I found it. A condition called Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome. For unknown reasons, some people go through cycles of vomiting. Most frequently it affects children, who are more prone to frequent bouts of short duration (2–3 days, about a dozen or more times a year). For a time doctors didn’t think adults could have it, but now they’re realizing that some adults have episodes of longer duration but less frequently than children. Of, say, up to three weeks, three or four times a year. No one knows why. There is no cure. There isn’t even a common therapy or medication or treatment. Some doctors don’t even know it exists.

The more I read, the more I realized—this was it. That’s what was happening to me. I went to my doctor and we discussed what I’d found. He thought it possible, so we tried a drug that treats migraines to see if that would help. (Cyclic Vomiting is actually related to migraines in that you can also get abdominal migraines, which cause vomiting and stomach pain, in addition to the headache migraines.) Slowly, it did, and it has for the past four months. Every month I still deal with bouts of pretty severe nausea, but I haven’t thrown up in about three months.

This is how it relates to the store, and how the store has become my savior: At the beginning of the second phase of vomiting back in January, right as I was preparing to go on sick leave for a second time in less than six months, I had my epiphany or whatever you want to call it about the bookstore.

In the weeks I was out on sick leave, I sat on the couch, TV on in the background, and put together a business plan and an auction for the fledgling Fire Petal Books. Working on the computer was really the only thing I could do, since severe fatigue accompanied the vomiting spells, making it hard to concentrate on reading or editing. So in between bouts of running for the bathroom, I would sit there on the couch, computer on my lap, emailing, creating auction listings, and doing whatever I could to make the store more than a mirage.

Fire Petal Books is nearly a reality, but as I get so close to realizing this dream, my body is trying to slow me down. I’ve been working so hard and for so long these past six months, I’m wearing down a bit. (It would probably be accurate to say that my every waking thought involves the store, in addition to the frequent dreams I have about it). When my body wears down, so does the defense I’ve raised against the vomiting. It doesn’t help, either, that I was so busy with the store, I forgot to refill my medication until after I’d run out. Let’s just say the past few days have been anything but pleasant.

So maybe that’s why I needed to write this long-winded post: to share my fear that it’ll start again, that I’ll spend too much time over the next few weeks hunched over a toilet or resting on what I fondly refer to as my “napping couch” in the back room of the store.

But even then, even if I do get sick and have to rest for an hour in between working, I can do that. I am my own boss and can set the schedule. If I’m not able to work physically, I can plop myself down on the couch and answer emails for a while or work on the newsletter. I can also have incredible employees who know that if I have to, I’ll sleep for an hour, then get back to work once I’ve rested a bit. They’ll take care of things when I can’t, and I love them for it.

So Fire Petal has saved me, both in the sense that I do what I can when I can without fear of losing my job, and that my passion for children’s books keeps me going when it would be so easy to lie in bed and bemoan my wretched health.

Now please, don’t think you need to feel sorry for me. We all have difficulties in life, and this is mine. But if nothing else, know that nothing can stop you from reaching your dreams. Not even never-ending vomit.

I don’t think you realize how much you mean to me. Yes, I’m talking to you. If you’re reading this post, it means that you have found your way into my life and my efforts. It means you have offered me support, even if only by reading this message.

Less than a month ago, I had a crazy idea. It flashed through my head in a stunning way that made me wonder why I’d never considered it a possibility before. Open a bookstore. But not any bookstore. One especially for children and teens.

For years I’d daydreamed about owning my own store and stocking its shelves with the kinds of books I want to read (as well as others that weren’t my favorites but still fit in with my definition of good books). It had always been “someday.” Then the thought smacked me upside the head and let me shocked. Why? Why wait for “someday”? That “someday” will never come if I don’t do something about it.

So when I got home, I made a plan for how I was going to make it happen. That night I told a few members of my family and got them onboard. Then I began researching just what it would take to do this fool thing: A lot.

Within me, discouragement battles with confidence, and every few hours one declares triumph over the other. I’m realizing it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. I’m planning to call for a ceasefire tomorrow. I need both of them on my side: confidence that I can do this and realistic expectations (discouragement when he’s in a better mood) to keep me from making incredibly stupid and costly mistakes.

And that brings me back to you. Yes, you. You are here, reading this message because, in some small way, you care about what I’m trying to do. You want me to succeed, and so you’re spending a moment to stop by, placing a gentle arm around my shoulders and telling me I can do this.

If this doesn’t turn out well—if I crash and burn spectacularly—please know that I am so grateful for this moment you’re giving me. I can’t begin to express how incredible it feels to know that people who don’t know me are rallying support for a little bookstore in Utah. You are offering hope in a cause that many might not think worth the time or effort. Literacy for children in Utah is nothing compared to the suffering in Haiti. Maybe what I’m doing doesn’t really matter.

But no. You are proving that people can open their hearts to all kinds of causes without making any of them less worthy. During the process of opening this store, I’ve realized that many people doing almost insignificant amounts of work can accomplish something spectacular. It’s not the amount of effort that counts; it’s the combination of multiple small acts that makes the difference.

I’m one woman and can only do so much. But with you, with your support and encouragement, and yes, even a tiny bit of your time and money, I can do something bigger than myself and something important. I won’t be saving the world from hate. I’m not finding the cure for cancer. I’m not eradicating starvation. But what I’m doing still matters.

If nothing else, I hope to prove that communities can work together to do something amazing. You are doing something amazing. And so I thank you. I pray that one day you may feel even a portion of the gratitude I have for you right now, before anything has been done. It doesn’t matter if I change the world. Now I know I could because of you.

I pray that you will realize you can do amazing, incredible, spectacular, gargantuan things by offering a little bit of yourself. And offering it again, to someone else. Then again.

Thank you.

I’ve decided to embark on a new adventure, and it comes after years of semi-pondering the idea. I’m opening a bookstore.

Not just any bookstore, but one catering to children and teens. We’ll sell books, yes, but we’ll also sell community, support, and education. My plan is to create a place where conversations happen, whether through book clubs, story time, or a chat upon the couch. There will be classes on to show adults how to write for teens and children—but more importantly, classes where teens and children learn how to write.

I’m posting a widget here that will show how the worldwide reading and writing communities are supporting the idea financially. If you haven’t heard of Kickstarter.com before, I recommend visiting their website to see the incredible things people are doing to improve their corner of the world, and then support them as well.

If you’d like to receive updates on the project’s progress, I’ll be posting to the updates page on Kickstarter as well as the Fire Petal Books blog (http://www.firepetalbooks.com/blog), twitter account (@firepetalbooks), and Facebook page.

This is why I work in publishing:

The author of Pocketdoodles for Girls* was so excited when I handed her an advance copy of the book, she started screaming, and then began crying. Seeing her so excited made me so happy for her and so excited that we’d produced such an adorable and wonderful book. I absolutely adore this book, and I’m not just saying that because I was the editor. I plan on buying a copy for myself to doodle in, and then giving it (and the boy book) out to every kid I know as gifts.

*The book doesn’t come out until March, but you can pre-order several copies now on Amazon. There is also a sibling book called Pocketdoodles for Boys that is awesome. So whether you know boys or girls, giving them these books will guarantee you the title of Coolest Person Ever.

A special message for you this Thanksgiving day

Be grateful you’re not the turkey.

books, books, books

friends, both near and far

airplanes, so I can visit those friends all over the world

the love I have for my family

my Mac

supportive bosses

Twitter

my perfect eyesight

family willing to take me in when I have nowhere else to live

Glee

music from Glee

the innocence of childhood—and keeping it that way for the kids I know

warm blankets

hot chocolate—especially at a cafe or coffeehouse

clothes warm from the dryer

cute boots (with stiletto heels, of course)

cuddling puppies and kitties

getting cards or packages in the mail

Christmas lights at Temple Square

laughing and crying over good memories

getting older and maybe a little bit wiser

gorging on a huge turkey dinner—with pie, lots of pie

and for my nephew (pictured here with his sister), who was born exactly one year ago, our own Thanksgiving gift.

And for the part you’re all more interested in . . . the winner of the journal!

Jessica Capelle

Jessica, email your address to me me at michelle dot witte at belletrinsic dot com, and I’ll mail you your prize.

It’s hard getting published. Take it from me, someone who works both sides of the fence as an editor during the day and a writer at night. I’ve been actively trying to get published for more than a year now, and I’ve yet to get an agent or a contract. I’ll even tell you a secret: I’ve pitched ideas to my own house, and I’ve been rejected there too. Being an editor doesn’t guarantee publication.

Why do we do it? Day after day, we toil so hard to write, placing pieces of ourselves in the stories, bleeding across the page. It’s not easy—not if you’re doing it right. And yet we keep on, praying someone—anyone—will like our manuscript enough to give it a chance.

Is it worth it?

Working in publishing, I think a lot of us are asking this question as the future of publishing appears a little bleak. The answer I hear from editors, agents, writers, and readers is a resounding YES! Most people don’t get rich working in publishing, and yet so many of us work in this industry because we love it. We need books as much as we need air. Stories, words upon paper, give us strength to live. The magic that happens between the covers of a book surprises, delights, and fulfills. It gives our lives meaning.

Still, it can be discouraging. Months and years struggling to make these stories come alive only to be told no. It’s not good enough—not yet. And so we try again. Revise. Rewrite. Write another story.

I imagine non-book people think us crazy. Why give your life over to a labor of love that often doesn’t bring large financial rewards? They don’t understand. It’s part of us. We can no more deny who we are than deny our need to create books.

To answer the question “is it worth it,” I have one thing to say: the moment you see a finished book for the first time—glossy cover, thick pages, glorious images—it’s like seeing your child for the first time. All of the years going back and forth between editor, agent, writer, and illustrator. The discussions, disagreements, and frustration all had one goal—to create a book. It is beautiful and it is yours.

Here are the details for this month’s contest:

List 10 things you’re grateful for and post it in the comments below. Now, I know you’re thankful for your family, your pets, and your tv, but I want you to dig a little deeper. Think creatively, think weird, think odd. Think of things that show us a little more about you. Specifics are good.

For this contest, I will be giving away a gorgeous journal from Paperblanks. You can use it for whatever you like since I’ll never know, but I’d like to think you’d use it (at least partially) as a gratitude journal. Stretch Thanksgiving beyond one day a year.

I already know I won’t be able to pick a list I like best, so we’ll choose a winner using my fabulous number generator.

Next week when the contest ends I’ll reveal my own list of things I’m grateful for. Prepare to be amazed.

Where do you get your story ideas from? I know this is one of those questions that authors tend to have a hard time explaining. For some reason, I remember the exact moment I started thinking about or suddenly came up with an idea.

Many of you may have seen Stephenie Meyer’s interview with Oprah last week. The thing that struck me about it was Stephenie’s description of how the idea for Twilight came to her. She had a vivid dream of what later became chapter 13 in the first book.

Whether you do or don’t like her books, the way the idea came to her is fascinating. This got me thinking about how ideas for my books arrive (for lack of a better word). I have a list of good ideas for books, some that are more pressing than others. Some are still percolating in my brain, so I put those on a shelf for the moment until they’re ready to be written.

One idea in particular blindsided me. I’ve mentioned this before, but when I started writing Mark of Jasmine I had been frustrated after a difficult day at work. So I went to my local coffeehouse, pulled out a pen and pad of paper as I nursed my hot chocolate. It only took a moment before I got an image in my head: A girl running away from something. Okay, why is she running? She’s trying to get rid of something, to bury it. All right. What was she trying to get rid of? A necklace.

Sitting there in the coffeehouse, I asked myself a series of questions, each time writing until another question came up. This continued until I had written several chapters, coming up with back story and plot and voice and characters. Names were pulled out of the air, just to keep the writing going. By the time I finished my hot chocolate and rushed home so I could transpose my writing to the computer, there was a complete story there. The details weren’t all filled in yet, but I knew the basics for the entire book (which has since turned into three books because one just wasn’t enough to tell the whole story). Three weeks later, I finished the first draft. Life was a frenzy during that time: working, eating, sleeping, and writing. But most of all writing. In every spare moment I had, my thoughts centered on the story.

It felt almost like I was Zeus with Athena bursting fully grown from my brain. Maybe not as painful, but just as amazing. Not all my books have come that way. The first one took me four years to write, but I learned a lot in that time so I was able to write my second book so quickly. Just the other day, I had another idea come to me while miniature golfing during a blind date. Random, I know, but you can’t decide when ideas will come to you. I’m pondering that idea now, and we’ll see if something comes of it. Another time I had a dream that could make a good book. I took notes and set it aside for the time because others were taking precedence.

So now my questions for you: Do you remember how or when you come up with your ideas? Is it slow or sudden? Do they come fully developed or does it take you months to piece the story together?

I’m obsessed. Whether this is a healthy thing, I’m not sure. All I know is that every time I hear about a new book, my toes tingle. Then when I see it sitting elegantly upon the shelf, I want to run my fingers across the silkiness of its spot gloss lamination. I’m really in trouble when I slowly slip off the jacket to reveal the stark beauty of the case. The endsheets are like icing on an elaborate three-tiered cake. By that point I know—I’ve fallen in love with another book.

I try not to be promiscuous with my reading, but there are so many exquisite books to choose from. I dabble a bit in self-help then take a nibble on some cookbooks, though my ultimate passion lies with fiction. I’ve had many a love affair with Mr. Darcys and Mr. Rochesters, though I could never deny the distinct attraction of a Heathcliffe.

Working for a publisher, it’s like book porn day in and day out. I get to help choose the lovely wrapping that will encase all those words. Words I have labored over, adjusting and polishing until each syllable cries out, “Read me!”

You probably wouldn’t understand, not unless you’re a fellow book person. Only those of us who savor each word on the page like chocolate, tasting and sampling one morsel at a time, can truly understand the ecstasy of diving into the untold pleasures of reading a book for the first time.

But maybe you do. Maybe you’re like me, always after a new fix of the heroin called reading. So the next time you’re at the bookstore, peek at the tongue-tingling delights surrounding you. Bask in the glory of all those words. And maybe—just maybe—those books will love you back.