Mar 3, 2012 |
You know that still, small voice we all have in our heads?
Yeah. Notsomuch.
Mine decided to shout at me over the last 36 hours.
And I’m so glad it did.
Once or twice a week, I get together for an early morning Starbuck’s with my VIP Julie. We talk about our kids, her husband, my writing, life, God, coffee, cooking, the weather… we talk and talk and talk and when we’re done… well, we’re never done. So we get together often. At least we try.
Last week we each cancelled so Monday was going to be our first Girl Talk Time in two weeks. You know we were chompin’ at the bit to meet up with over 300 hours of what I like to call “shtuff” to talk about. We usually have less than an hour and that wasn’t enough so we set another meet up for yesterday.
But when yesterday came, my heart wasn’t in it. I really just wanted to cancel. But then I’d miss hearing how this story ended or that one began and all the in-betweens. So I sent her a text. We have it down to a science. One sends “Starbucks?” and the other replies either “Yup” or “Can’t”. We save the rest for the face-to-face chat. Yesterday, I initiated. And to my surprise and relief, her response was the negative. She forgot she had another appointment, so we rescheduled.
I was relieved. Because I really was tired. And had errands to do. So this worked out fine for me. And I didn’t feel let down. The fact that I made the effort even when I didn’t really want to, made me feel better. I heard that still, small voice get louder. I heard it cheerfully say, “At least you tried!”
Today I had grand plans to leave resumes all over town. Due to a minor comedy of errors my schedule went kablooey (technical term, that is!) and I was only able to drop one.
There it was again. “At least you tried!” I felt good about my efforts. Even if it doesn’t show. Even if I’m still unemployed. Even if potential employers aren’t looking at my resume this evening. At least I tried. And in that, I find satisfaction and completion. I can’t make anyone hire me. But at least I can get noticed.
It’s the same thing with my writing. I may not be a Nobel prize winning poet. I’m okay with that. Maybe my books won’t sell in the millions and buy me a mansion. While that would be okay with me, it’s not the end of the world if it doesn’t happen. It’s not the end.
And that’s when it hit me. It’s not so much crossing the finish line that defines a person. It’s how we get there that counts. I have a brand new understanding of being told that adage as a kid, “It’s not whether you win or lose. It’s how you play the game.” I never truly got that before. But now I do.
And I’m determined to play hard and authentic and genuinely. I’m determined to play the game.
Because the end result just means there’s a new goal. It never really means the end. So why not make the most out of getting there? I can’t even start the race if I don’t get out of bed. So I have to at least try.
I’ll never be published if I don’t write the book.
I’ll never find a day job if I don’t go out and look.
… well, I didn’t mean for that to rhyme, but as long as I’m at it, here’s a new one.
I’ll call it Journey:
If I fail, I learn from mistakes.
If I win, the glories I’ll take.
Step One is to plan.
Step Two is to try.
Okay, seriously. I can’t seem to focus enough to finish this great little inspirational poem right now. But you know what’s going through my head?
No joke.
You got it.
At least I tried.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Feb 6, 2012 |
A few days ago I mentioned that I rejected a freelance writing opportunity.
While I know it was the right thing to do, I was disappointed. Disappointed with the lack of finances (and my need for more!), disappointed with a failed opportunity, disappointed with so much.
While endeavoring to be a paid writer I’ve also been trying to find a day job to pay the bills. That hasn’t offered much hope either.
So. I admit that God and I had a bit of a talk. Actually, it was more of a child kicking and screaming to get attention from the adult. Without actually throwing a temper tantrum, I admit that my heart really wanted to. I prattled off all my worries and concerns and the reasons I’m not sleeping as well as I used to and don’t forget the recurring knee injury and what is up with this cold weather and wind and by the way do you think just once I could win the lottery? Or at least a few decent writing assignments? Is that really too much to ask?
I learned a few things that day.
*First: It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be sad and discouraged. It is not okay to wallow or lose hope. But it’s totally okay be tired and cry it out.
*Second: Crying can be good. Admitting your disappointments out loud can be cathartic. Telling your worries to your mother over a tear-stained coffee cup can even lead to some unintentionally humorous conversations.
*Third: God loves me and will take care of me no matter what. Even when He doesn’t give me what I want, He gives me what I need and protects me from what I deserve. What I think I need is not what I really need. And that thought terrifies me because I don’t like the unknown. But if all I know is God will take care of me, and my family, then that’s what I have to go on.
*Fourth: Proverbs 22:1 (NIV): “A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold.” I could sell my writings almost anywhere. I could write the kind of stories that would sell big, but in doing so I would compromise my style, my faith, and my name. I could write for people who don’t care about quality. I could write, and get paid. But I’d rather keep my Good Name. Because in doing so, I’m trusting God for the rest. (See Bullet Three above).
I kept praying for direction answers my will to be accomplished. Until I realized this is the first of many rejection notices I’ll receive. I just happen to be the one doing the rejection this time. And I’m okay with that.
I’m a firm believer that when God closes one door, He opens another.
The same day I rejected this freelance opportunity, another one came my way. One that will be mutually beneficial to myself and the business I’m writing for. One that leaves me no doubt that God had this lined up before I even thought of rejecting the first one.
And then of course I felt pretty foolish for having stomped my feet and threw my fists in the air (no, not literally!). But it’s a good thing to know that God loves me know matter what. It’s an even better thing to know He knows what’s really in my heart.
Psalm 50:15 (NIV): ” and call on me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you and you will honor me.”
Yeah. I’m keeping my Good Name. Because it comes from My Father. And after all, Father Knows Best.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Nov 16, 2011 |
My blogging experience over the past two years has taught me some valuable lessons and given me great insight.
It can be (and for the serious blogger/writer, should be) considered a job. Accordingly, I need to approach it as such. That means I keep at it, even when I want to call in sick or take a personal day. I show up, I put in a good amount of time and effort. And when the situation calls for it, I go above and beyond the norm. Maybe this means finding a hot topic to discuss, or just a new writing style to try out.
I used to think blogging was for wanna-be’s and cheaters. No way am I putting my writing out there. On the internet. For everyone to see, and, you know, steal. No. Stinking. Way.
But then I got sucked in. A few friends were blogging, so I checked it out. Oh, okay. It’s like an online journal that you share. With strangers. Yeah. That’s not intimidating.
Facebook gave me my first taste. I started posting Notes, and getting some responses. Hey. This isn’t so bad. And I felt… valued. Like what I said was important to someone else. And it was. How do I know this? Because. They left comments. Saying what I said was important. Huh. That worked out nicely.
Over a year ago, I started my first blog. It went nowhere. I had five followers ~ all friends. And not a clue about what I was doing. I mean, I loved writing. And sharing little life-stories. But it wasn’t growing, and neither was I. It atrophied. And I was a bit embarrassed.
So last April I tried again. I thought I had this Blog-as-a-Job thing figured out: I had a clear goal, a direction, a theme. I knew what I wanted to focus on, and how to focus. It was a mainstream blog idea. It should have done fine.
It didn’t.
Because I didn’t.
Because I still had no clue what I was really doing.
It was like being made office manager when I didn’t even know how to answer the phones.
But little by little, staying in the deep end that I had thrown myself, I learned how to swim. I read other blogs. I googled ideas. Most importantly, I received an immense amount of counsel and assistance from two professionals: Keri and Erik, distant (as in, physically far away) friends who, through the blessings of the instant internet, have been available to answer all my questions and help me out accordingly.
I soon realized my blog had its own idea of what it wants to be. Well, you can raise a child but you can’t control them… so my blog and I grew together. We branched out, tested some waters. Stepped out of the swamp of chaos and into the cool, refreshing oasis that is now Frankly, My Dear…
And it’s working. Because I treat it like work. In the past three months, my dedication to my blog is superceded only by my love of writing (I miss you, Meg!) and cooking. I giggle every time one of my unsuspecting friends suggests I remind them of “Julie and Julia”. I’m just waiting for that literary agent to notice my blog and call me up with a book deal. (I’ve got tons of ideas, and some are even finished.)
So. Blogging is my job. I put in hours every day. I count other blogs as coworkers, and check in regularly. I look at the want ad’s: those blogrolls that list other blogs I might be interested in. I’ve found quite a few. It’s fascinating how many blogs there are. For any and everything.
I look at formats: do I have too much? Not enough? How can my content improve? And I get ideas. I get links. And now I’m getting Likes.
Readers are the currency of blogging. I know I’ve written a good post based on how many “likes” it gets, how many “shares” and “posts” and “tweets”. (It never ceases to amaze me that the ones I think are going to be popular, aren’t so much; but there are other ones that just take off and surprise me!)
For a few weeks now, I’ve seen my blog grow. In content. In design. And lately, in readership. Every time I get a new subscriber, it’s like getting a pay raise. It’s like a floral delivery and a chocolate cake all rolled into one. It’s like saying I have something worthwhile.
And while I’m not trying to be narcissistic about it; being a writer, you can’t help but have a bit of that. Because if I didn’t have faith in myself and my writing, how on earth could I possibly put it out there for everyone else? Yet, I always say, a writer is only as good as the readers allow. And getting new readers is that acknowledgment that I must be finally doing something good. (And now, for some strange reason, I’m singing the song, “Something Good” from The Sound of Music). But that’s actually how I feel: perhaps in the past I screwed up, perhaps I’m not all I once thought I wanted to be. But here, on my blog, you accept me. And you make me feel okay about being who it is that I now want to be. So I just want to thank you.
All of you.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote.
