Giving Thanks!

            I had another post planned for today, but since it’s a short week, I thought I’d take this time to share what I’m most thankful for instead, aside from my family. 

First off, thank you to all those who offered me advice on last week’s post.  It has helped me a great deal.  Even more thanks to Lora Rivera for suggesting The Poisonwood Bible in her comment, and to Julie Musil for her post on the book, Hate List.  Both recommendations have helped me decide on how to proceed with my WIP.

Then there’s you, my followers and fellow writer-bloggers.  As writers, we know this is a rather lonely avocation, but we feel pulled toward it regardless.  Lucky for our generation, we have the Internet and Blogger, or whatever service you use, to connect with folks you’d normally never have the opportunity to connect with.  But just because they’re there, doesn’t mean there is automatically a connection.  You have to work at it.  And it’s not always easy either.  So for what it’s worth, I’d like to say how grateful I am that you’ve all allowed me to make that connection with you.  I feel blessed to have so many other writers who are willing to share, teach, advise, or just talk with me.  What would have been lonely is now anything but.  So thank you!  I really don’t think I could do this without you.

            Within my group of online acquaintances, I’ve made quite a few honest-to-God friends, people who exchange manuscripts with me and others who enjoy exchanging emails.  There’s even one writer I get to interact with in person!  *GASP*  Her name is Jennifer Hillier.  I won a signed copy of her book, Creep, last summer and quickly became a fan, but what’s even more remarkable is that we actually became friends.

She lives an hour away, so from time to time, we meet up somewhere in the middle and have lunch and chat about all things writing.  Since the Seattle Puget Sound Area is not exactly the friendliest place on earth, I was grateful just to have a new friend, but even more so since she was a fellow writer, and even more because we write in the same genre, so we understand each other in ways others may not.  But alas, as is my luck, Jenny is moving back to her home town and country, Toronto, Canada.  This saddens me more than I can say, but I’m grateful just to have met her and feel privileged to call her my friend.  That won’t change just because she’s moving away.

(God, I wish I had a picture of us together!)

            Last, but certainly not least, I am eternally grateful to God for bringing Lisa Regan  into my life.  Sure, she is a fellow writer, and even writes in the same genre, but what we share is so much more intense and profound than just our writing.  We share our lives, the nitty gritty, the happiest of moments, and everything in between.  Yes, it began as a critiquing partnership and I can honestly say we have helped each other become better writers, but even though we’ve never actually met in person, Lisa knows me better than just about any human being on the face of the earth, save my husband.  Then again, she knows things even he does not.  *Shhh*  I know I couldn’t have survived the insanity that is my life without her.  I love her like an identical twin sister.

            So for you, my followers and fellow writers, for Jenny and for Lisa, I am incredibly thankful and I want the world, or anyone who is interested anyway, to know just how much.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, MY FRIENDS!

              

Everyone Needs a Champion

Let's face it, I'm lost.  I don't even know how to get started finding my way back home.  For some reason, I decided to take a path with no roadmap.  And when I started, I didn't know anyone else in my life who had ever taken that road before.  So there I was, blindly barreling down an unmarked, uncharted road with no idea where it ended or the places I would travel through along the way.  I can tell you one thing.  It's a lonely road.  Sparsely traveled.  

I don't know what it is I'm searching for while I travel this road.  Some kind of fulfillment.  Another soul, perhaps, to ease the loneliness.  It's seems counterintuitive, choosing a lonely road in order to find someone to ease my loneliness.  And I can tell you, I am afraid.  Some days I wish I could just die already.  Because it would be so much easier to give up, to let God hold my hand and pull me along.  It seems so much easier than paddling against the current of my life.   

That road I'm traveling feels a lot like the edge of knife and I'm trying to find something to help me balance myself so I don't fall off.  And I feel compelled to rush along that edge instead of taking each step slowly and finding my balance before I take another step.  I mean, have you ever seen someone on a tightrope or a narrow tree that has fallen across a raging river?  The person crossing always seems to practically run across the bridge.  Running seems easier, doesn’t it?  That they are less likely to fall off?  Well, I think that’s my ignorance rushing me along.  My ignorance is my greatest enemy.  It’s like a road sign turned around the wrong way.  Or better yet, it’s like that person on the side of the road you ask for directions, only they don’t have a clue though they point and speak anyway, sending you on a wild goose chase.

I hate being lost.  I feel so out of control.  Lost and lonely.  Is there anything worse?  Probably not, but I have found a few things out along the way.  Though they are not right beside me on the road, I have a few champions who often help me out, shouting out directions or calling me up so that I have a familiar voice to coax me along, urging me to not give up.  It’s too easy to just plop down where I am and hang my head in my hands.  But when those voices call out to me, I sigh and pull myself back up.  It’s still not easy.  It takes a lot more effort to pull myself back up than it would have if I never stopped to begin with.  And I’m still a bit lonely, but knowing I have a few champions in my corner really helps motivate me, keeps me moving along, to find the end of the road and learn from the mistakes I’ve made along the way.  

I have my friends here in town who pat me on the back and reassure me that there are other agents to query, who might be interested in reading my full manuscript even though two have already taken a pass.  Yes, that’s right.  Super Agent X, the one I spoke of here, turned me down.  She was very pleasant, made a few complimentary remarks about strong elements to the narrative and had nothing bad to say except that she didn’t think she could market it as effectively as I would like.  At first, I thought, well I knew that was coming.  I thought I was prepared.  Boy, was I wrong. 

This second rejection on my full manuscript hurt much worse than the first since I had garnered it without any help from anyone along the way.  It was a crushing blow and it devastated me.  So much so that for the first time in my life—and that’s a not so short span of years—I was driven to drink, to drown my sorrows.  For the first time in my life, I took shots of hard alcohol.  Almost as if I was following in the footsteps of my poor misguided protagonist.  How ironic is that?  Funnier still, even though I drank at least half of that bottle of Silver Patron myself, I barely even caught a buzz.  There must be some lesson in there somewhere, right?  Maybe it’s that I should not allow myself to be thrown from the course, even if I am lost.  So here I am, picking myself back up, brushing myself off and craning my ear for those voices, the champions who occasionally shove me from the shoulder back onto the road. 

My husband is one of those champions, though he’s had his faltering moments, as well.  He tries to be stoic and support me even though he’s quite tired of seeing me cry.  He’s the one I have at home whom I see everyday, who gives me a smile and says, “Well, fuck her.  She’s not the only agent out there.”  I know it’s not easy for him either because he cannot be there beside me on the road.  He cheers me on from a distance, unable to steer me the right way because he has no clue which way that is.  But still, he is there. 

My true GPS is my friend, Lisa.  I have spoken of her many, many times.  She is my compass, my true north.  As I’ve said before, I would be completely lost without her, without any hope of finding my way.  She is the only one who also travels this road.  And while she does not stand beside me for the simple reason she is further down the road than I am, she does leave me breadcrumbs along the way. 

She’s been lost on the road many times and for a very long time, but she recently acquired a map in the form of an agent.  So she knows the roadblocks I am experiencing, the stalls and flat tires that slow me down.  She’s experienced them all.  And she cautions me, too.  She’s the big yellow sign that says watch for falling rocks ahead.  Sometimes I’m too busy keeping my head down to take notice and when I fall, Lisa is always, always there to pick me back up, brush me off, turn me back in the right direction and shove me along.  She is my truest champion and has never faltered even once. 

I know it is because she has been there and done that.  But it’s more than just a shove she offers.  Lisa is my one-man cheering squad.  She keeps telling me my book is great and could easily be on a bookseller’s shelf, that it has no problems to speak of.  She says it’s just a matter of finding that one agent who will become my next champion.  That I just need to persevere.  Keep on the road even though that road is long and winding, full of hazards and roadblocks that will slow me down.  She’s always saying she knows I will get published, that I am talented.  And coming from her, man, is that ever a compliment.  So Lisa is the reason that I hoist my big ass from the side of the road.  She’s the reason I keep putting one foot in front of the other, blisters, sprains, broken bones, and all.  She is my champion and I could not find my way down this long, lonely, winding without her. 

           God bless you, Lisa Regan!