The Cover and the Current
You choose a font. Adjust the spacing. Open Canva, then close it. You ask yourself if digital-only is brave or cowardly. Whether Kindle is real enough. You take a week just picking the perfect near-black shade.
And in the background, something is already writing the book.
It doesn’t ask for your preference on serif vs. sans-serif. It doesn’t care about DPI or distribution. It just spills. When you’re walking, showering, staring blankly at your screen. Uninvited, but not unwelcome. It is the book happening without you.
The technical is not the enemy. Neither is it the source. It’s the frame around a painting that doesn’t need one. But if it helps the painting land in someone’s hands, maybe it's worth choosing thoughtfully.
So how do you let both unfold simultaneously? The layout and the letting go.
First, notice when one is hijacking the other. Are you tweaking the subtitle because it needs it, or because you're afraid to write chapter three? Are you pushing “publish” too early to avoid sitting with what hasn’t yet arrived?
Second, give both their time. Set a timer to research formatting, then walk away. Let the unwriting write. Schedule your tasks if you see yourself doing that.
Finally, stop waiting for it to feel balanced. It rarely does. Sometimes you’re all marketing. Other times, you forget the book even exists while it finishes itself. You simply follow its natural rhythm, which at times starts with your own apparent initiative.
No need to force harmony. The cover will find its shape, and so will the words behind it. They already are.
