Meanwhile . . .

When I lived in Louisiana, I knew a writer who had six books published in a single year. He didn't write them in one year, though; that phenomenal year happened because he kept his head down and wrote word after word, page after page, day after day. As he completed and then finished each manuscript (completed and finished are two different things) he submitted that work and moved on to the next.

He's a good model to follow. He stayed faithful to the muse and eventually the publishing world caught up with and recognized his work.

I'm polishing Love is the Thread so I can send the final version to the publisher, ready for publication. Meanwhile, I have other work in the pipeline. Last night I spent a couple of hours on the phone with my writing partner in Virginia. We've known each other about fifteen years. We started a writers' group when I lived in Roanoke and have kept connected ever since. Right now we're in the middle of sharing our current works in progress. Once a week she gives me feedback on a couple of chapters from The Fairy Gate and I offer my responses and suggestions to a similar number of pages from her new novel.

It's not only useful to hear and apply her criticism. It's good to drop into the raw writing of earlier draft, and into the deeper relationship of revising the manuscript. Not to mention the comfort and challenge of my sister writer's feedback. Writing is so solitary. I am grateful for her presence at the other end of the phone line as much as for the valuable remarks she gives.

I may or may not ever have the kind of amazing year as my Louisiana acquaintance did. I am savoring this time in my life just as it is--with one work on its way to readers, and another still evolving under my care and that of my friend in Virginia.

How is it different?

About a year ago a good friend of mine wondered if my life as a published and publishing author would live up to my years of work and dreaming. It's too soon for me to know the answer to that question; I expect the "answer" to vary as I go through the publication process, first with the memoir and then with (ahem!) all the books that will follow.

I do know this: I already know and understand more than I did before. For years I've read published authors' remarks about how publication brings about a whole new set of problems. For the most part, at least in my memory, those authors remained rather vague about what those problems were. This is what I've learned so far . . .

Reading a contract and understanding what it means is a whole new skill set that can take quite a while. Working with a publisher and coming to terms is a delicate process, no matter how much you like each other. I am grateful for every moment of this process, not only because at the end of it we reached accord, but because I am better educated thanks to that process. I will always be grateful for what I now know.

In Songs of Innocence and Experience, William Blake explored the first two stages of a fully lived life. Though he indicated there is a third stage that follows the childlike phase of innocence and naivete, and the phase of experience and potential cynicism, he did not name the final stage. It blends innocent joy with knowledge. Perhaps it's Wisdom.

I am by no means a wise person, but I feel an inch or two closer to it than I was when my friend asked the question that opened this post. In my earlier innocence as a writer, I thought, BOOM, you signed the contract and all else followed as if a Fairy Godmother had bopped you on the head with her magic wand. Then, for many years, as I submitted my mss. and went through first one phase of acceptance ("Yes, we'd like to see your sample chapters . . . your synopsis . . . the whole manuscript.") only to end back where I started, I sometimes struggled with bitterness and yes, cynicism.

This small beginning, which is also huge for me, helps put those years of struggle into context. Every minute was part of my learning process, a process I am still in and will be in for the rest of my life as an author. Becoming an author involves writing, writing and more writing, learning to go through the submission process, learning how to read a contract, how to be both a writer and reader AND knowing that each experience is complete in itself and part of a greater process.

Don't know if that's any more coherent than what all those authors who are already published have to say, but it's where I am right now. Always beginning!

Life Purpose and Contracts

Yesterday I did one of the things I've dreamed of since childhood. I signed a publishing contract.

I sparklers and joyous explosions inside, and yes, I had some of that going on. At the same time, calm warmth flooded my heart, my whole chest and body--a strong sense of peace and the rightness of things. This is the way it is. This is the way it's supposed to be.

A number of years ago, I decided that the purpose of life is simple; we just make it complicated. We're here to recognize our gift or gifts. (Some people do have more than one.) We spend our lives making that discovery and then honing the gift. The point is to then give the gift back to the world. For a writer, that means also discovering a way to get the stories out to readers.

I am so grateful that the next section of my purpose has opened so I can do that.

All the Good News

A number of years ago I edited a little newsletter called Fit to Print. We published only good news, often stories of quietly observed kind deeds, occasional book reviews of uplifting books, and so on.

Today is a day that I would want recorded in Fit to Print. Not only did I receive a lovely offer from the publisher for my memoir Love is the Thread, the grant arrived for my research project to complete Judith, my novel based on the Apocryphal Book of Judith. And interest is being expressed in my YA novel, Selkie Song, which is rooted in Celtic folklore.

Really, if someone wrote about a day like this in a novel, an editor would probably say, "Change that. It's not realistic. Nobody would believe you." I've had a rough couple of days personally the first part of the week, and just tried to hold on and keep walking through that "dark, dangerous neighborhood in my head," as Anne LaMotte once wrote. This morning (before all the good news, I might add) I chose to take care of myself and feel happy, no matter what the day brought. But wow, I never expected to wind up here!