A Writer Waits: Week Seven

It seems like it was such a long time ago that I first sent my proposal. In fact, it seems like another life now that school is in full swing, and I'm thinking again about lesson plans and my hair is falling out because of classroom management nightmares. Summer was good on so many levels, not to mention a great time to write.

The agency I submitted to said to wait eight weeks before giving up (they didn't say it so bluntly, but they may as well say it that way). So, one more week and I can move on (okay, give up - on them anyway). The frustrating reality is I won't get to any new proposals until a nice break in the school calender. It's hard knowing I have what I think is something good to publish, yet I can't work on it during this season.

Interestingly enough, it's also a reality I'm learning to appreciate. I of the opinion that any writer should read more than write, and this season allows me to read with my students and look forward to coming back to my book with fresh eyes.

I'm reminded of a quote (I can't think of the source): something like, "The best thing that could happen to the craft of poetry is for poets to take a one or two year break from writing."

There's not enough observing, listening, thinking for much good writing to be created. So, I'll take a deep breath and wait. When I come back to my work, I'll be glad for the break.

Thanks for reading.

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.

Parenting Panic: Creating "Normal"

Raising children puts everything into such a sharp perspective - especially when you're not expecting any new insights. Just yesterday we were going along with our daily business, I think I was following my little boys into the next room, and this thought hit me like a heavy diaper:

"We create 'normal' for our children."

It's not such a deep thought, it's not even surprising when you really think about it. Every time we talk with our children, every time we ignore them, every time we sit down at the table to share food (or don't), every time we discipline (or don't)...you get the picture. Just about everything we do on a regular basis, and we do it without thinking about it because it's "normal," we shape our children's view of how people live.

Remember the first time you went over to a friend's house and saw the way they ate together, did laundry, spoke to one another...? It wasn't until the summer after my sophomore year of college that I found out that women could whistle (a song at least, my mom can blow your eardrum out). And it's not like I ever even thought about it. I stayed with a friend all summer, and his mom would whistle little tunes. The first time I heard her I thought it must be his dad - then I walked around the corner and saw who it was. It was in that moment I knew what my "normal" was for whistling music. Of course, the next moment I knew how absurd it was. More often than not, normal is shaped for us without our knowledge. In fact, it just might be the only way.

I know my boys will have experiences like that, and it probably can't be helped, nor do I think I have to "fix" it. But it's another heavy load to carry as a dad. I want my children to see normal, but not see it so much that they think their way is the only way. I mostly want them to see what God's normal is, that is, love and hope and peace. And when they see the absence of these things in other people and their families, I want them to work toward being vessels for Him to work through to establish them.

After all, it's His normal that is the true normal.

A Writer Waits: Week One

It's been one week since I submitted my proposal to a literary agency. This particular agency says it could take up to eight weeks to respond - if they respond at all. So, I thought a weekly update on my state of mind would be apt, or at least mildly amusing.

Week one state of mind: hopeful (still). I'm well aware this hope could (and probably will) quickly deteriorate into hopelessness. As for now, I'm picturing my proposal in some email database just waiting for the right eyes. And of course they haven't seen it yet - how could they have seen it? Surely they would have fallen all over themselves to call me and beg me to send the rest of my novel.

Hope is such a good thing. In fact, because I'm full of it now, I'm going to be sending out more proposals to more agents and possibly publishers. This whole writing career I'm seeking (and hoping for) seems so close, yet even now my hopeful state is salted with reality; my skin is going to have to grow another layer, and I need to develop a taste for rejection. (My previously mentioned hopeful state is now speaking things like, "Rejection is just a chance to grow!" "You don't want anyone who isn't excited about your novel anyway." Blah, blah, blah. I guess the longer I write this post, the more reality seeps in and turns my hope to pessimism.)

Better sign off before I decide it's all impossible. Besides, the natives are restless.

A Word About Writing

Any writing here has taken a back seat for quite awhile. Two little boys have demanded my attention this summer, and I, willing most of the time, have obliged. However, my writing has not altogether stopped.

My goal for this year, no matter how unreasonable, is to snag an agent for my novel. And, after much work in the early morning hours over the past 4-5 weeks, I sent my first proposal on Monday. My wife deserves so much credit - she edited until her eyes popped from her head - and I refuse to think about comma placement and the details of other grammar minutia for the present.

So now for the best part: waiting. Waiting for the rejection. If the average number of rejections most published authors holds true for me, I'll be in for at least 40-100 - at least. And that's if it ever happens. The way of seeking an agent first seems to be the right thing to do these days, so I suppose there could be more rejection after I find one of those, or if I do.

Writing is joy, no?