Just me here at Bolen Books, hanging out with my friends Anthony, Tom & Rebecca. No big deal.
Almost $60 for a book? I know. I get it. But let me tell you…
Over two years ago, I set out to make a book. Not just any book, but a big, beautiful, full-colour, story-filled collection of recipes, paintings and photos.
And just like when I start a painting, I knew how I wanted it to feeeel, but at the time, I didn't fully grasp the enormity of what I was taking on. And I guess that's a good thing, because I believed so fiercely that this book needed to exist, I just assumed I'd figure out the rest.
There were months upon months of gathering and writing over 90 recipes, researching copyright, cooking, of course, then testing, tasting and testing again. Countless, and I mean countless, afternoons standing on chairs at my kitchen counter to get high above my subject matter, photographing the meal I'd just slaved over precisely to the recipe (something I don't do well), desperately trying to catch the last of the daylight. No professional food photographer in sight or on call. Just me, tucking the giant mess of the kitchen out of the shot. Honest to God, in every single recipe photograph, there's a massive kitchen disaster just out of frame.
I was a woman possessed and on a mission. For months and months. Pete watched quietly, highly amused, happily absorbing many cold dinners afterward.
The writing part took FOREVER. I'm a very slow, overthinking writer, forever second-guessing myself (yes, I’m doing it now). But eventually I got there. After about a year, the bones were in place.
And then things, as they do, went pear-shaped.
The exact details and lessons I'll save for another time, but simply put, my first publishing arrangement fell apart. We essentially fired each other over creative differences. The direction they wanted to take the book felt downright foreign to me, and we couldn't see eye to eye.
After all the mojo I'd invested, my book was losing its identity. Its heart. I don't think the publisher had taken the time to get to know me, my work or the beauty of the experiences the book held. I'd already invested an enormous amount of time and money, but I knew I couldn't let that happen. So I walked away. I chose to protect the work, even though it meant taking on more risk myself.
I was let down, disappointed, disillusioned, but also FREEEEE. Out of the contract and back in the saddle.
Almost exactly a year ago, I made a huge decision. I'd do it all myself.
I dusted off my old graphic design skills, updated my software and set about designing and laying out all 280 bloody pages. Every last detail. And of course there were more setbacks, expensive mistakes and more than a few moments when I wondered what on earth I was doing.
But I just… kept… going.
Because I suppose, much like making a painting, it's the boldness, the courage, stubbornness and occasional madness of making something without knowing whether it will succeed that keeps me coming back.
And I certainly wasn't entirely alone. Along the way, some extraordinary people stepped forward with their expertise, encouragement and support. To say I couldn't have done it without them is a massive understatement.
Now, here's where the almost $60 comes in.
This isn't a mass-produced, print-on-demand book backed by a large publishing house. It's a small run, traditionally offset-printed and sewn here in Canada, in full colour, on beautiful paper. Like the big old ink presses rolled on this one. That matters to me.
And it's expensive to create. Staggeringly so.
There are economies of scale in publishing. Print thousands of copies overseas and the cost per book can drop considerably. No judgement there. It's how many books become affordable. But that's not how this one was made.
With such a small run, the margins are slim. Sell through a bookstore and they're slimmer still. And if I were to calculate the hours I've poured into making this thing, well, I'd probably be better off not knowing.
It's not so different from making a painting. People see the finished work, but not the years of learning, the materials, the failed attempts or the risks taken to bring it into existence.
And that's really why I'm telling you this.
Not because I need to justify the price, but because I think there's value in knowing how things are made. In understanding what it takes to bring an idea into the world when there's no big machine behind it.
This book was built, every brick of it, by me alone (and some angels) because I believed there was a beautiful story worth telling.
And now it's a real book. Sitting on shelves. Finding its way into laps and kitchens. Being splattered with sauce, I hope.
Laura. xo
PS And to everyone who's bought a copy already, THANK YOU! Your feedback has been a gorgeous salve for my soul. I can't tell you how much it means to me. And please, as always, tell your friends.
