I got a royalty check today and it shocked me in more ways than one. First, it was very small, perhaps 10 or 20 per cent of what it was a few years ago, before the recession, the rise of e-books, the decline in hardcover book sales, and the collapse of most of the conventional media that used to review and publicize books for readers and book buyers. All of these changes coincided precisely with my divorce, and although I haven’t written about it before – I really, really, hate writing about money –  the collapse of my royalty checks was a major reason I put the farm up for sale a couple of years ago. I understood right away that the fat days of publishing were not coming back any time soon, and my life would have to change. I did not believe I could afford my life any longer, something many people were dealing with.

So it did change, but not in that way. I focused on the blog, social media, the photography. I undertook to write children’s books, to expand my audience and generate  additional revenue. I re-designed the website, undertook to use videos on YouTube. I used computers and Ipads to better publicize book tours and books. I changed the nature of my writing, understanding that I need to express more fully the emotions I was feeling, rather than write in so detached and distant a way. I worked hard to get my head clear of fear, anger, confusion. It was clear that people’s buying choices were more discriminating, more difficult than ever.Writers – even New York Times Bestselling writes – are not immune from the realities of the world, nor should they be.

I remember thinking, boy, you better get off your duff. You have a lot of work to do.

My agent clubbed me into understanding how publishing was changing, and how I had to change. My editor clubbed me into writing in a different voice and style. I found a wonderful free-lance editor who challenged me further to be clear and better organized in my work. I found a spiritual counselor I trusted, and learned from. I leaned heavily on Maria’s great faith in me and my work, and on the people out in the ether who were so encouraging.I began working more intensely to redefine my work, my writing, and  on my spiritual life, my spiritual center, so that I would learn what was important, and channel my energy and work  and creativity in a healthy and productive way. I asked myself every day how I might change, do better, learn more, change intelligently.

I will not say this all was not frightening or difficult, because that would be a lie. And many of you know better. Nor would I claim that publishing has settled down and that contracts, royalties, hardcover book sales – the staple of my income – will return. Things will continue to change. I will be fine. In the past few years, when I got a royalty check like today’s, it upset me. Look how royalties are dropping, I thought. I should have known this before, made plans about it. How will I live? How will I keep the farm? Do my work? I could have made different legal and other decisions. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair.  When will it return to normal?

That didn’t happen today. When I stood at my mailbox and looked at my royalty check, I smiled. How lucky, I am, I thought to get a royalty check. To have a book a new contract. To be  using new technology in so connective and productive a way. To be so in sync with my editors, publicist, agent, publisher. With my life.  And, I think, my readers.

I am not a fortuneteller.

But I love where my work is going. Things are working. It feels good. When my local bookstore, the Battenkill, offered to accept orders for signed copies of “Going Home,” we expected a dozen or so orders. We’ve had well over 200. And still going. then I discovered that the bookstore reports to the New York Times Bestseller List. Things come together.

I am so lucky to have a successful children’s book, to use my photographs in such a meaningful way, and to have so much excitement about my next book, “Going Home.” To have Maria. The dogs and donkeys. Simon. The farm. My photos, food on the table, a good roof over my head. I have nothing to whine about. Wealth is not measured in money, and I know now I will have what I need to have. It will not be enough by some people’s standards, or even by the standards I used to live by. Things might change further, get better, get worse. I am finishing up a book about Frieda, and will soon wade into a book about Simon and the nature of mercy.

So I’m pleased with my check. I can’t wait to cash it. And I am grateful for it. The significance of this check isn’t what I thought about it, but what I didn’t.

I didn’t have to tell myself to think differently. I just am. I called a friend up to tell her. That, she said, is huge.