On writing a book and putting aside the hallowed trinity of pen, paper, and inspiration to share it among friends.
The writer spends hours that turn into weeks and then months and then years focused on a single objective.
The topic is exhausted, the stray corners discarded, and the project rolled into a single format. It’s all right there.
Only now has the real work begun and the writer assumes the role of publicist, ironically the agony they likely became a writer to avoid in the first place.
A pen. A page. An inspiration.
This trinity—pen, paper, inspiration—energizes the writer (how the writer envies the motivational speaker who writes a book; the celebrity who jots their whimsy).
The writer can live forever within these three walls, even in isolation. But for the book to live forever, the writer must inhabit a grander structure, a third dimension along the lines of what the pharaohs built—a pyramid (in another irony, these were tombs).
The trick is defaulting to gratitude, being gracious for opportunity, grateful for any and all interest.
Because writing is not an artwork hanging on the wall or a strain of melody on the breeze or a performance—be it oratory, drama, street-corner juggling of flaming chainsaws.
Enjoying these modes requires no special attention. Attention may enhance the experience, but even a passive observer can take real pleasure in the existence of these art forms.
Not so, writing. The writer is greedy, demanding, insistent. Each word must lead the reader to the end of a sentence, a paragraph, a page.
The writer should recognize the ego and arrogance in this, spending hours that turn into weeks and months and years to complete a narrative that is only really complete when it connects with a reader. A book is an object devoid of meaning if nobody puts conscious effort into reading it.
An Iconic Brick Mansion
This is a long way of saying that Profiles in Service will enjoy a launch event tonight. And with participation bringing a departure from my hallowed trinity to put it on display, my position will be one of enormous gratitude.
We’ll gather at the DACOR-Bacon House, just two blocks from the White House, a historic national treasure and living testament to America’s political, cultural, and diplomatic heritage.
It isn’t my story I’ll be telling there. It isn’t a story limited to the principal subjects of the book or the corollary figures who populate its pages. It’s a far broader community of people who work tirelessly, selflessly, and lately in the face of horrendous defamation.
I’m talking about America’s foreign affairs workers, of course, the hundreds of thousands of people who worked and continue to work outside the limelight to keep America secure regardless of the policies that creep from Washington’s shadows.
It will be a relief to finally push this bark out to sea and watch how it handles the winds and currents and tide.
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Ben East Books 
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