Sometimes I wish I posted more frequent updates about this project—especially because so much has happened behind the scenes. Over the winter, I focused on something less flashy but absolutely essential: figuring out the tools I needed to finally start shaping this manuscript.
As a self-confessed tech geek and an admittedly mediocre writer, I dove into the world of writing software. Most modern platforms are designed for fiction or screenplays, with nonfiction feeling like an afterthought. Google Docs could’ve worked in the early stages, but I needed something with more structure—something that would let me see the big picture and the architecture of the book as it unfolded. I eventually settled on LivingWriter, which not only gave me the structural control I needed but also offered editorial analysis on chapters. For someone like me—more creator than professional writer—that was a game changer.
This isn’t a review of tools, but I wanted to share this part of the process in case it’s helpful to other creators. Honestly, I’m incredibly grateful for the tools available today. Without them, producing even a rough manuscript would’ve taken years—or a lot of money I didn’t have.
On top of the writing challenge, there was also the mountain of interview data—70+ transcripts and hundreds of stories. While this wasn’t meant to be a formal research project, organizing that much content into coherent themes was an enormous task. I had attempted it years ago with modest results, but something was still missing. That changed when I discovered Google’s NotebookLM, a research-focused tool that allows you to upload your sources and query them directly.
Feeding it all the interview transcripts, I could ask questions like “What is the role of a teacher in the Buddhist path?” and it would return 10 nuanced roles—each one linked to specific passages in the interviews. It was surreal. Suddenly, I could pull threads through the chaos and find clarity. I was even tempted to bring in outside research or scientific articles to deepen the analysis, but ultimately realized that would have strayed from the project’s core intention: to let the stories speak for themselves.
After organizing the material, I started methodically working through about 25 chapters, each tied to a central theme. I included four to eight perspectives per chapter, knowing it might feel repetitive but trusting it was better to cut later than to come up short. Even then, I used less than 20% of the material—and still ended up with a 150,000-word manuscript.
Looking back, my original aspiration to interview 108 people might have been… ambitious. But I wouldn’t trade that richness for anything.
Once the rough draft was complete, I decided to step back. I needed space to breathe, and time to figure out the next phase. That’s when I began researching publishing options and stumbled upon a platform that connects authors with freelancers—everything from editors to book designers.
Through that, I connected with a former editor from Shambhala Publications, who gave me some tough but necessary advice: build your author platform. In today’s publishing world, even great books don’t sell without an audience. While this made perfect sense to me as a businessperson, I had largely ignored the marketing side during the creative phase. But I wasn’t discouraged. I knew that sooner or later, this would become part of the journey.
He also told me something else hard to swallow: my manuscript was about three times longer than what’s commercially viable—and that didn’t even include the photos. Initially, I was frustrated. After all this work, it felt like I’d shot myself in the foot. I never set out to make this project a commercial success, but I also didn’t want to compromise its depth just to make it “marketable.”
Then, during a meditation session, clarity came: this project needs to be two books. I’d been flirting with the idea for years, but this was the first time it felt right—and possible. The division into depth and breadth allowed me to create two offerings for two different audiences: one exploring the components of a transformative Buddhist path, and another celebrating the diversity of Buddhism in America through stories and photographs.
The second book, in particular, excites me. With projects like Humans of New York paving the way, there’s clearly space for a photo-rich, human-centered book about Buddhism in America. I can now imagine inviting Buddhist communities to contribute their own stories and images—transforming this into a true community offering. And as a bonus, this kind of outreach naturally helps build my author platform. Two birds. One path.
Realistically, this means committing to another decade of work—but I’ve come to see this as part of the practice. Compassionate activity doesn’t really have an endpoint.
So, where am I now? I’ve decided it’s time to begin promoting the project, not just to gather support but also to build the data publishers need to see. Even if I eventually go the self-publishing route, building a platform is essential. While this may be a practice for me, it won’t benefit anyone if it stays hidden—especially in a world so overwhelmed with distractions.
That’s why I’ve restructured the website—to capture more engagement and invite contributions for the second book.
Finally, a personal note: Recently my teacher asked why I was reaching out to so many Buddhist communities, especially during my time in Colorado. I’d never really had to explain it before. But after some reflection—and some inspiration from a specific practice—I wrote out the long-term vision of this platform.
Until then, thank you for being part of this. Whether you’ve been following quietly or cheering me on, your presence means more than you know.
