A few years ago, I took a crazy gamble and tried to write a
book. Unlike most writers I know, I never thought being a
published writer was remotely possible for me. Never scribbled
little stories as a child. I've loved reading all my life, yes,
and spent a great deal of my childhood in the tiny library in the
small town where I grew up. I'm never far away from a book, would
just about as soon read as eat. My kids learned early on to
discriminate between the times I was actually listening and the
murmured responses that meant I was still deep in the story. I
propped books up on the counter while I made bread, while I folded
laundry...and if my current book wasn't nearby, I'd scavenge for
any reading material at hand.
But have my name on the cover of a book? A pipedream, pure and
simple. One of those gee-wouldn't-it-be-wonderful ideas...but
things like that don't happen to people like me, do they?
Then one day, in the middle of one of those "what are we going
to do with the rest of our lives?" conversations, I mused to the
man I love, making that gee-wouldn't-it statement. To Mr. Get
Things Done. Mr. Don't Talk About It-Do It. Mr. Bottom Line. And
the man went a step further-put his money where his mouth was and
encouraged me to come in a couple of hours late each day to the
business we were running together, so I'd have the time to try.
Uh-oh. Busted. No reason not to proceed except...well,
cowardice. Common sense, maybe. But I lived in a state of blessed
ignorance at that point-knew nothing about the craft of writing,
no idea how to proceed and, Most Important, no idea how enormous
the odds were against me. If I'd known then what I know now...I'd
guess the fear thing would have won. Because I didn't know then
how important writing would become. What it would mean.
So my master plan, my technique (you should laugh here-I am)
was to read what I'd written the day before, then do the ingénue
thing, tip of finger twirling in imaginary dimple in cheek:
"Golly, where shall I go from here?" And somehow, at the end of
six weeks I had-more or less-a book. Just under 300 pages, a
beginning, a middle and an end and maybe, just maybe...a real
story.
And the beginnings of a new love affair, for writing is now as
important to me as breathing. I can't imagine not doing it, can't
envision my life without it.
And could kick myself around the block for not trying sooner.
But you know what they say about hindsight.
I proceeded to make just about every mistake in the book-not
understanding the market, firing that book off to the agents of
every author I loved, not having a clue about appropriate
publishing houses for what was a decidedly amateur effort...etc.,
etc.
But fortunately for me, embarrassing as that book is to me now,
somehow those who knew more than I did saw a glimmer of talent in
it. As the scales fell from my eyes, one by one, I received just
enough encouragement to keep me following those kudos like
breadcrumbs as the rockslide of publishing realities thundered
down on my head...and I didn't quit.
I wanted to-a million times, at least, but I didn't. And the
man who dubbed himself The Shovel Man is the biggest part of why.
He gave himself that name to describe the rollercoaster his
life had become. As he said, he never knew when he came home at
night, if he'd be scooping me off the floor or scraping me off the
ceiling. But bless him, he persevered, having faith in me when I
so often had none in myself. My first book is dedicated to him,
but they're all really his. Without his love and faith and
unflagging support, I wouldn't be here, conversing with you.
I'm far from a finished piece-a work in progress, to be sure.
I've been fortunate to win a number of awards and receive a lot of
great reviews, but I've got a lot of lost time to make up
for-though I can't really call them lost, because I don't regret
at all the years I focused on my family. Family, as you can
probably tell from my books, is everything to me. But I've got a
lot of stories to write, a lot of work I'm still building the
writing muscles to tackle.
I'm not through taking crazy leaps.
I hope you'll be around with me-to watch, to maybe shake your
head, but in the main, to let me tell you a story now and then,
and be a part of this wonderful
pipedream.
