Dear friend,
I won’t say I was actually struck by lightning — I imagine that is far more painful and unexpected than what actually happened. But I will say that after I shared a piece of my heart with you last week, something vulnerable and squishy and inspired woke up inside of me. As if typing the words to you somehow made them true, I woke up and actually didn’t feel afraid of what was next.
And that’s when I was struck by lightning.
I grabbed my phone and immediately sent a video to my friend. She’s been encouraging me, not pushing me but encouraging me, to keep creating. To rest and embrace fully my creative identity (I’m not a business/numbers/strategy person at all, except when I’m forced to be, and even then I often flop.) Anyway. Creative. Lightning. Strike.
“I’m going to do it. I’m going to write another book.”
It’s been 10 years since I birthed my last creative baby. (Sorry for mixing analogies of lightning and childbirth, I’ll blame it on the excitement.) But to write a book is best illustrated by the analogy of childbirth — to become pregnant with an idea, to accept where the journey will go, to let the idea and effort grow bigger and bigger each day, to the actual physical and emotional pain involved with pushing it out into the world.
(Sorry to all my Mommas out there whose uterus aches with my analogy. Raises hand.)
For years, I bought into the idea that the world didn’t need another book. To me, society felt noisy and flustered. Adding to the chaos felt too loud. And after publishing a slew of books in a short period of time, most importantly, I didn’t have much left to say. Creatives need time to fill up and to grow. We have to travel, to rest, to taste, to observe, to listen, to explore, to grow, to be alone — it’s only in these ways that we find the energy and resources to bring something forth into the world. We need new stories to tell, new people to connect with, a new song on our lips. As we often say in our house, “we have to fill before we can spill,” that is to say, we have to allow ourselves time to cook (emotionally, spiritually, creatively, and in this case… literally) before we can outpour our efforts back into the world.
I love being a creative, and yet, I’m still perplexed by the process.
Okay, so back to the noisy world from which I retreated…
For many years (9, but who’s counting) I put away the natural next thing — stepping away from a string of four published books and a publisher eager to pick up the next one — simply to hold space in the room for a bit less chaos. Buy my book! was never a mantra I enjoyed yelling. Plus, I was casting a new vision for what I wanted to create. I’m not the same person I was ten years ago. Even five years ago. Much like a musician learns new chords and melodies, I too learned new flavors and kitchen habits. I was changing. I needed to give myself space to do that. Time alone in my kitchen and the chance to… to do something… to become what was next.
Through the publishing of my first four books, I also learned very quickly that unless one is Ina… or Jamie… or Joanna… one doesn’t write a cookbook for money. It takes hundreds of thousands of copies for the author to financially gain from their efforts. To sell like that, authors need massive marketing pushes, big influencers on their side, and a publishing house who has all kinds of connections. To put it bluntly: such an undertaking is not a smart financial use of my time and as such, for years, to invest in the project felt self-indulgent and misguided. Shaye’s Italian Kitchen isn’t just creative work for me, it is also how we support our family. Thus, “No.” became the most responsible answer when our publisher asked us to have another go.
But what is life? Money? Notoriety? Mass success? Boringgggg.
For the creative, life is beauty and expression — using God-given gifts to create. We are craftsmen, training our hands, eyes, and skill to bring something of quality to the world. We create because we simply can’t not.
Lest I make writing a book sound impossible, in many moments, it feels just like it. This is why celebrities hire ghost-writers and recipe developers (oh ya, that’s a thing). To do my best, to do what I know I’m capable of, this book will require so much effort that the idea feels almost unbearable. I bleed out into my books. I give them my lifeblood.
In my kitchen, there is no editor, no director of photography, no designer, no layout editor. There aren’t extras. Assistants. Studio kitchens. Prop tables. I’ve said it a thousand times — what you see here is truthful, it is not a stage. There is no team.
The team is I.
But is it only I?
No, I suppose not…
I have my members of The Cooking Community — a gorgeous group of ladies who have been encouraging me, cooking alongside me in their kitchens, giving me feedback on my recipes, and shaping the teacher that I’ve become over these past eight years. I’m better because of them.
I’ve got Stuart — an ever open and eager ear. He’s great at diving into long, tedious work without complaint and is the first to offer up help in whatever way it’s needed most.
I’ve got friends and family — while they may not be prop stylists, they’ll push me forward and encourage me to keep going. They’ll tell me not to stop and I’m sure, at some point, they’ll feed me when I can’t feed myself.
Georgia, my sixteen-year-old, is great at helping wash dishes.
I’ve got a handful of Italian friends on speed-dial to help keep my content pointed true.
I’ve got a stack of hand-written journals with ideas, stories, experiences, and recipes collected from the past decade that I’ve yet to share.
And, dear reader, I’ve got you. My supporter, my friend. Collectively, the paid supporters of our Substack newsletter are helping in significant ways to fund the creation of this project. As a thank you, and as a point of personal connection, I’ll be offering recordings of our newsletters to you specifically. Voices are powerful and I want you to hear these words directly from me, from my lips, as we continue on this journey together. I also want to ask you questions and hear your feedback as the book develops. The audio recordings will be embedded in the weekly emails so instead of reading, you can listen. I hope in this way you can hear this piece of my heart truly. Thank you, thank you.
So. The lightning struck.
Within four days, I’d organized a production schedule and honed in on the 120 recipes that I wanted to share. They came spilling out of me. I guess after nine years of filling, it was time. I now have a recycled three-ring binder with scribbled notes and categories that will be my constant companion for the coming months. This effort will be grueling, it will take time, it will create more dishes than one ever thought humanly possible. And yet I hold a huge amount of hope — that it will be a blessing to you in your own kitchen (I’m writing this for you, not for myself, and I think that’s a very important distinction.) I hope that the quiet nature of this work will calm the noise of the world and that as I huddle up in my kitchen over simmering pots and rising doughs, that the chaos out there will quiet… that I will be reminded of the good and quiet work that takes months to produce… that the lack of instant-feedback and instant-gratification will somehow become a balm to the fast-paced and damaging speed, volume, and quality of what we’re consuming on the daily.
I believe there are people out there, like me, who want to curl up in their kitchen with a physical book in their hand. They want to dog-ear the pages, tuck sprigs of rosemary in between chapters, and spill sauce on its pages. I believe there are others out there like me who have changed, but who want to be a part of a future with books.
I’m someone who loves (loves) the powerful and practical work of the home cook’s hands. It is my greatest pleasure to increase the powerful and practical work of your hands in your kitchen. I invite you to join me creatively in this journey over the coming months. I will share with you the experience, the joys, and the setbacks. From time to time, I may need you to kick me in the behind and remind me to press on. I also will open up conversations for constructive feedback. I want you to be a part of this process because, after all, it’s for you.
I promise to create something truly beautiful.
I’m just Shaye. The little home cook who can’t stop/won’t stop. So what the heck. Let’s go.
We couldn’t/wouldn’t do it without you.
Love,
Shaye
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