When I signed on with my agent more than four years ago, I held a celebration party for myself and began to imagine my books on the shelves of Barnes and Noble. Three years later, I had two books written and a complete proposal for a third, but none of them had seen the shelves of any bookstores.

And thus, I learned my first lesson in being a writer: Nothing will happen on my preferred timeline.

Sure, we had positive feedback on my manuscripts. Sure, I got a nibble from Penguin. But, mostly what I had were a lot of days where I obsessively checked my emails hoping to hear from editors.

I decided that my agent wasn’t the right match for me, and we parted ways somewhat amicably. I researched and pitched some small presses myself, and within a few weeks was offered a book contract.

Second lesson learned: Everything I thought was true may not be.

I had been told that I must write a book proposal for my memoir or any nonfiction book I wrote. In fact, it was suggested I write and pitch the proposal before writing my memoir to see if there was a market for it.

My agent never read, nor even asked for my proposal. Instead she said, “I’ll learn all I need to know from the manuscript.” My editor took a cursory glance at it but was primarily interested in the manuscript as well.

I had also been told that it is impossible to get published without an agent. It was said that publishers won’t accept work from authors directly. I have since learned that many small and medium size presses do accept manuscripts directly from authors and that having an agent is not necessarily a guarantee to being published.

My new editor asked me how long I would need to complete a draft of my manuscript, and I said nine months. Two months later, I submitted a complete draft to her (see lesson number one). The writing/publishing process continued in this vein, and my book was in my hands by the end of the year.

I spent most of fall trying to set up readings all along the west coast. I had a few successes but mostly a lot of miscommunications, confusion and, of course, the writing-world standard, no replies, whereas readers of my zine, "Reality Mom," were able to set up readings in a manner of minutes. Not only that, they offered me a free place to stay and guaranteed that they would drag at least three of their friends and pay a few homeless people if need be so I wouldn’t have to read to empty chairs.

And thus, my book tour from Vancouver, B.C., to California was set, and another lesson was learned: Let people help you.

I met a "Reality Mom" reader before my first reading at a café. After a couple of sips of my latte, I changed my order to a hot toddy. The caffeine was only increasing my nervousness and speed of talking, whereas the hot toddy relaxed me enough so I remembered to breathe.

Another valuable lesson.

I approached the podium and learned that the audience no longer consisted of my cat and kids, something I failed to understand when agreeing to go on a book tour. Although the audience appeared friendly, I didn’t know them and they weren’t feline, meaning they wouldn’t love me just because I fed them.

I took a deep breath and read anyway.

By my third town and reading, I learned that no matter how much I prepared in advance, I would most likely show up to the reading two minutes before it began. In the car, I would feel harried, sweaty and scattered, but somehow all of this would fade away when I began talking to the audience.

The one, and only one, reading that I arrived to early was my worst reading. I had time to think and strategize, which made me stiff and nervous while reading. If I’m late, I don’t have time to think, and somehow this allowed me to be more at ease and meld with the audience.

With group readings, I learned that many of my fellow writers were introverts, therefore they pulled a hat down to their nose, rarely looked up from the piece they were reading, exhaled only when they were done and then raced off the podium.

On these occasions, being late with mocha (decaf, I learned my lesson) dripping down my shirt was a minor concern. At least I was not afraid of eye contact, and I even enjoyed talking to people. Sometimes.

My counterparts in the Bay Area unnerved me by being articulate, intelligent and ardently political. I pulled a receipt out of my purse and attempted to jot a 3,000-word summary of the Obama administration’s major problems and successes thus far.

While doing so, I saw a text from a man I was seeing. It stated, “They’ll love you in San Francisco because you’re warm and real. Best of all, you are you.” I smiled at the text and knew he was right.

I am not political and if I tried to sound as if I was, I would surely lose out on sounding intelligent as well. But, I am me, and I strive to be real, so I crumpled up my receipt and read a story about how many orifices I checked on a daily basis while trying to become pregnant.

On my way to Vancouver, B.C.,I learned that staying up most of the night caused me to forget the one thing I absolutely had to have: my passport.

I also learned it was a really bad time to cheap out and only buy “pay as you go” minutes for my cell phone. After 20 minutes of swearing and hurling my phone, not to mention breaking out in a cold sweat, which by now is par for the course for every reading, I was finally able to make a phone call and reach a saint who said he would go to my house, find the hidden key, get my passport and meet me half way so I didn’t have to drive all the way back to Seattle.

A miracle occurred and this plan actually worked. I arrived in Vancouver in time to down a glass of wine and a few crab cakes with two more "Reality Mom" readers. I arrived at the reading “on time” and ready to go.

I returned home from this reading with strep throat. In fact, I caught it twice even while on major antibiotics. Being the common-sense person I am, I said, “Your body is screaming at you to slow down.” I took the month of April off from readings and limited myself to Seattle readings only for the rest of spring.

Many more lessons transpired over spring and summer, but they all seem to boil down to this: I can plan and calculate all I want, but really the only thing that matters is that I’m flexible when these plans crumble.

As long as I don’t doubt myself and am able to feel confident in my work, things usually work out. Better than that, I feel a connection to the listener and they feel a connection with me. What else could a writer ask for?

Corbin Lewars (www.corbinlewars.com) is a writing mentor, the founder of "Reality Mom" (www.realitymomzine.blogspot.com) and author of "Creating a Life" (Catalyst Book Press, 2010) and the forthcoming "After Glow.a' She will be teaching a memoir writing class in Ballard starting in September. Contact her for details.