I am as busy as I've ever been as a writer, with a full-time job in community journalism and working hard to promote a seasonal book (and trying not to concern myself with overstocking the product). And I'm really enjoying the ride. I think part of the ride is at the end, feeling the excitement of going back to the end of the line and starting the process over again, just to get back on the rollercoaster.
Now, I've never enjoyed having to start a project all over. I've consumed a lot of nasty food because I was too stubborn (and frugal) to start over if I made a mistake. I've had a lot of ugly furniture (back before I met Tonya, who gave me instant style cred) and well, I've begged for forgiveness far more often than I've asked permission.
But with the excitement of the Chicken Soup book has been the feeling of gratitude for all the people who've boosted this writing life, this career that I've wondered often if it was the right choice.
And the list is long. I won't even start, because the absolute last thing I'd ever want to do is leave someone out. But there are people on the list from long ago and others very recent. Some have left the field, others escorted from it. I've had my setbacks, too. I remember gathering my stuff into a cardboard box, carrying it out the back door and wondering what went wrong. (It turns out it wasn't me, IMHO)
But above all else, I've felt this overwhelming sense of being loved. My family has always loved me; almost as if they were required by some force threatening their existence if they didn't. But without them, there's no photo above. The outpouring of support has been more than I ever thought possible, with my family and church family in the lead.
As usual.
I'm not sure why I'm surprised. It's not like that feeling was ever hidden, at least not in a long time. I think maybe that love just manifested itself in a new way.
I've been asked to share my writing journey with a group at the Syracuse Library on Saturday, before a book signing. I have a mental outline of what I want to say in the time allotted. But I must choose carefully, so as to not be a blubbering mess. So I'll try to stick to the tried but all too true. I heard the instructions many times before they finally stuck. It's not like there's a secret formula to writing success.
I'm praying that I can be an encourager, just as I was encouraged along the way. Maybe in a few years someone will remember my contribution to their writing life.
And that would be as humbling as everything else in this writer's lifetime.
Now, I've never enjoyed having to start a project all over. I've consumed a lot of nasty food because I was too stubborn (and frugal) to start over if I made a mistake. I've had a lot of ugly furniture (back before I met Tonya, who gave me instant style cred) and well, I've begged for forgiveness far more often than I've asked permission.
But with the excitement of the Chicken Soup book has been the feeling of gratitude for all the people who've boosted this writing life, this career that I've wondered often if it was the right choice.
And the list is long. I won't even start, because the absolute last thing I'd ever want to do is leave someone out. But there are people on the list from long ago and others very recent. Some have left the field, others escorted from it. I've had my setbacks, too. I remember gathering my stuff into a cardboard box, carrying it out the back door and wondering what went wrong. (It turns out it wasn't me, IMHO)
But above all else, I've felt this overwhelming sense of being loved. My family has always loved me; almost as if they were required by some force threatening their existence if they didn't. But without them, there's no photo above. The outpouring of support has been more than I ever thought possible, with my family and church family in the lead.
As usual.
I'm not sure why I'm surprised. It's not like that feeling was ever hidden, at least not in a long time. I think maybe that love just manifested itself in a new way.
I've been asked to share my writing journey with a group at the Syracuse Library on Saturday, before a book signing. I have a mental outline of what I want to say in the time allotted. But I must choose carefully, so as to not be a blubbering mess. So I'll try to stick to the tried but all too true. I heard the instructions many times before they finally stuck. It's not like there's a secret formula to writing success.
I'm praying that I can be an encourager, just as I was encouraged along the way. Maybe in a few years someone will remember my contribution to their writing life.
And that would be as humbling as everything else in this writer's lifetime.