Memories of Childhood & an Interruption

While we were on vacation, during some much needed veg-time, my three year old son said to me, "Dad, I love the way you talk." My heart melted. Compliments are good, and I'll take them from anyone as long as they're genuine. But spontaneous remarks from my little boy top anything I can think of.

I was in the middle of this post when my above-mentioned son said:
--Let's have a meeting.
--What kind of meeting?
--A meeting about obeying and disobeying.

Then he said:

--Let's pray about football a lot, and baseball, Jesus, disobeying, obeying (love the order there), letters, lights, trees, Jesus - that he died on the cross for our sins, windows, bricks, walls, boxes, chairs, wheels on our car, ceiling...(thoughtful pause)

--What about people you can think of?
--Daniel, Wes, Tim, (my brother), Momma, scrapes...
--Scrapes?
--Um-hm, fingers, hands, arms, head, feet, legs, diapers, shorts, undies, shirts - you're typing all the things that I said?
--Yes.
--Papa! You're typing so well!

At that point, he started climbing on me, so the meeting ended. Interruptions like that are the best...

So, to pick up where I left off: "spontaneous remarks from my little boy top anything I can think of." And they are. The main reason they're the best is because of the unblemished love he has for me - and I can say that because I remember having those same feelings for my dad when I was a boy.

I remember visiting my dad at his office and trying to time my breaths with his. In my little-boy head, I wanted to be exactly like my dad, even to the point of breathing in and out at the same time for the rest of the day.

I remember wanting to sit close to him so that I could look at his hands, look at his face, and look at the way he did things so I could do exactly the same thing. Now, when I receive comments from my son like that, about the way I talk, it makes me want to build on every moment I can to his advantage.  I want to see the love in his eyes, receive it, and fully express my love for him.

I want to gush love to him.

May it be so.

A Writer Waits: Week Three

This one will be short and sweet: still no answer from the original proposal - five more weeks until I write them off as uninterested. In fact, and this is sad, I would almost rather they reject my proposal at this point (today) than never answer (I'm starting to think "never answer" is going to be the response, if you can call it a response). When I began this week-to-week update of my proposal status, I really thought I'd have more details on my rejection by now.

What a disappointment.

Not only is it disappointing as far as what I can share, it's also a bummer because it means they haven't even looked at my work...

Waiting produces some interesting thoughts. There's a whole line of thought that deconstructs everything you've written, and it happens the longer you wait. Should I have done this in the query letter; would it have been better to summarize these points instead; all the way to: why did I ever think this would ever be published?

And so, I wait. A swirl of thoughts still ricocheting through my mind, and I'm forced to wait.

A Writer Waits: Week Two

It's hard to believe it was only two weeks ago that I first sent my proposal - it feels like months. I didn't post yesterday because my family and I were traveling, and to be honest, it was a great distraction from thinking about all things related to writing and waiting - especially waiting.

(I'll have to post some pictures of our beautiful surroundings later...)

I've been working on the whole waiting thing for some time, and every once in a long while I think I'm getting good at it...then I send a proposal for my novel that I've poured myself into for the last three years and waiting seems like sitting in a room full of needles.

There are lasting moments that are, in fact, moments, yet it's as though everything but myself is moving at break-neck speed; I'm treading through quicksand watching the events of my life zip by on walking escalators. Then, when I'm really seeing things clearly, I realize just how much I can miss when I'm letting my impatience rule over me. I struggle from the slimy quicksand, leave my writing dream in capable hands, and again join my family.

I think (I think) I'm still hopeful about getting published, yet the hope I had last week wasn't quite as tempered with impatience. This week, I'm making it a goal to wait with optimism, and not let anything pass me by - especially on vacation.