The Evening Edition: The Cadence of a Legacy

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about legacy.

We recently and unexpectedly lost an extended family member. At her celebration of life, the stories shared were entirely about the lasting impact she had on so many people throughout her very long journey. She left behind a legacy of welcome and love.

Because the timing of her passing happened near the release of my novel, Shipwrecked Faith, it made me think about the legacy my books leave behind. In this digital age, the words we put into the world can long outlast us, which made me ask: What am I spending my time on that truly lasts?

For a while now, as I’ve come to terms with a dynamic disability, I’ve had to reevaluate my energy. My musings on legacy have wrapped themselves around the reality of limited time. If my capacity is finite, I want to spend it on what matters: on my family, on my readers, and on stories that outlast me. I don’t want to spend it on social media reels that disappear in twenty-four hours, or on chasing algorithms just to be seen.

I want to play the long game. I want to build a sustainable path to build a legacy that matters so that when my time on earth is done, my family will remember the time I spent with them, the stories I told, and perhaps even readers will be touched by the books I have written.

How have these musings affected my plans going forward? They have definitely made me more circumspect. Circumspect in how I’m spending my time and what I’m spending it on.

It sounds funny to like the word optimize, but truly, I’d prefer to work on making sure the unseen is working for me so that I can spend the time on the seen—on the relational human side, the human connection.

When I was wrestling with how to manage my dynamic disability, my doctor suggested getting a handicap parking placard and I struggled with that because I’m not in a wheelchair and I can physically walk. So why do I need one?

My gracious husband helped me understand that, sure, I am capable of actually walking to the door of a store. The question is, what do I plan on doing once I get there? Do I plan to shop? Do I plan to get back to my car? If walking that distance to prove I can means I can’t do anything the rest of the day, then what good has it done me?

That really stood out to me. The parking placard allows me to not just make it to the door, but fulfill my reason for being there, to return to my car, to pace my energy in order to spend it on what really matters rather than spending it all on walking a parking lot just to prove to the universe that I can.

That parking lot is exactly how I have come to view modern book marketing.

Marketing feels too corporate a word for what it should be. I want a sustainable discovery system that functions like a savings account—doing the deep work once then letting it compound in the background so I can spend my active energy on what only I can do: human creation and human connection.

Finding readers requires discoverability, but I believe that discoverability should grow out of relationship. While I believe wholeheartedly that artists should be compensated for their labor to keep the craft sustainable, it has to be more than a transaction. I don't just want a book sale, I want to offer an experience of escape, safety, and belonging.

It’s about building connection, meeting readers where they’re at, and providing my stories in an accessible way.

• If a reader is looking for a no-spice romance, my books are a safe space.

• If a reader wants a faith-threaded story that won’t preach at them, they will find that here.

• If a reader is looking for a story of welcome and belonging, they will find it in my books.

At the end of my life, the legacy I want to leave behind is one of love and acceptance because that’s how God sees us. He has thrown open His arms to welcome us just as we are because He has paid the admission fee. We simply need to show up and allow Him to pay our tab.

One of the reasons I have thoroughly enjoyed discovering Substack. It has given me a space to share these musings and genuinely interact with you as you discover them.

And perhaps if you enjoy my articles here on my Newsreel, or the interviews and historical insights on my podcast, or the flash fiction on my paid Dispatch, you’ll enjoy my novels and novellas, too. Or vice versa!

This legacy perspective has made me far more circumspect about my time. I want the unseen parts of my author life to work for me in the background, so that I can focus entirely on the seen—the relational, human side of storytelling.

It all comes down to a legacy of presence. And I’m here for it.

How do you ensure you are saving your strength for the things—and the people—that truly matter?

Leave a comment below because I would love to hear your thoughts.

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