Never Give Up

My entire life I have been surrounded by what I consider ordinary things and events. I thought the people around me were what made my life extraordinary. I live my life and do my thing and that's just how it is. I'm not so naive to think that everyone lives their dreams like me, but sometimes I feel I live a small life. Clearly, I was wrong.
I was having a conversation with my friend in which she described me as brave and bold and she wished she could be like me. She called me a risk-taker. A go-getter. As I laughed and tried not to spew soda out my nose, I asked what the hell did she mean by that?
She wistfully sat down her drink and spoke with her hands as she is wont to do.
"You have traveled. You live in a different place than where you came from. You're a dancer and a singer. You inspire young people everyday. All that is brave. I could never do those things. Not in a million years."
"Yeah, but do you want to do those things?"
"Of course, I did. But what if I failed at it? What if I wasn't good enough? What would happen then?"
I thought for a minute. "You just go for it. Win some, lose some. You work for what you want."
"See? That's what I mean. Brave."
I blinked twice trying to absorb that the woman she sees and the one my mirror reflects are the same person.
Yes. I do all those things she says. I have traveled. A lot. I loved it.
I do live far from where I hale.
I was a professional dancer and singer and now I teach that trade at a performing arts school. I hope I am as inspiring as she says. I lead a group of Girl Scouts in my hippie footsteps trying to teach them to save the planet and be strong and independent all at once.
But now I'm a mom and a wife and lug around 30 more pounds than I would like to. I sit on Twitter far too long everyday and spend lots of time cooking (Since I am my grandmother's granddaughter and you know, just in case Bobby Flay calls for a throwdown.)
She took a drink and said "And you wrote a book. You're so creative. I could never do that."
I looked at her with round eyes as if she had suddenly sprouted a second and third head.
All the other stuff I could see her thinking of assets. I wanted it, I went for it, I did it.
But this thing...this last mention of accomplishments felt the furthest from that word it could be...instead, it feels like failure.
Yes. I wrote the book. I have written many books. I have edited, revised, cried, laughed, typed until cross-eyed, took critiques and did all that again and yet they still sit lonely in my computer. I wrote the dreaded query letter. Or letters I should say. I have submitted with a nervous and shaky hand.
Over and over and over.
I have felt that instant panic of 'what did I just leave out?' followed quickly by the complete and utter revulsion for everything I've just written and whooshed into cyberspace.
I have waited, with racing heart, until the emails came only to find the rejections waiting.
Each one telling you almost, but not for me and that if you just send it on to the next agent, they are sure it will fit them. It's as if every one of us trying to get a deal is pulling a slot machine lever. You pull, hear the ring, watch the wheels. One cherry. Two cherries. Then the third wheel stops half way between banana and cherry, you're so damn close you know if you pull it one more time...thus begins the cycle. It's vicious but it keeps you coming back for more. So you keep at it. More rejections.
Each one encouraging. Each one telling me to keep at it. Each one telling me no.
I have felt that sting of pride where you think "Your loss, not mine." which of course is quickly replaced with the self doubt of "Clearly, I have no talent."
I, of course, brushed off my friend's statement with clever self-deprecation and a little laugh at my own expense, but it made me wonder...why do I do it? Were the other things I accomplished this hard? I don't know if they were or not. Maybe this isn't what I should be doing. It ate at me. I spent more time away from the computer and more time talking myself into the fact that it would never happen. I was ready to give up.

Fast forward to parent-teacher conference: I'm sitting across from my fifth grader's teacher, a lovely woman who adores my child. "I understand you wrote a book."
My mouth fell open. "Well...I ...um, yeah...I guess. I'm looking for an agent?" I thought to myself, why did that come out a question? I am...aren't I?
"Well, your son is very proud of you. When he scores well in writing he says he gets it from you."
My eyes grew wet with what would turn into tears as soon as I got into my car. I had no idea. I thought I had tried not to tell people so that if I failed, few would know. I thought my kids weren't paying attention to my triumphs of sending it out and the heartaches of the getting the big N-O. I thought I was alone in it. My family and my students support me of course, but say it out loud to someone.
"I wrote a book."
You either get a look of awe, (awkward) asked for your published title,(which of course you don't have) or the most common...the look of "Uh-huh. Sure you did." (In which case, you quickly blather like an idiot to defend your novel that only exists in your house and heart but nowhere else in the world) - And so you don't say it a lot. Or at least I didn't.
I'm a dancer for crying out loud!
But now I realize that is not what I should be worrying about. The failure is not the worst that could happen.
If I want this, and make no mistake, I truly do, then I have put myself out there. The succeeding isn't the part that matters, it's the risk of doing it at all. The guts to go for it is the part my kids and students are seeing and if I fail, it doesn't matter....IT WOULD ONLY MATTER IF I GAVE UP.
My friend was right after all. My risk taking inspires at least my son and that is plenty for me.

So with renewed vigor and a completely different attitude I go forth from here. George Clooney said that an audition was like betting with house money. You are selling you. You go in without the job, you leave without the job. The only thing that can change is that you get the job. I think that's how I'll play it from here on out in regards to getting an agent and a book deal.
I don't have it now, but I can try. I'm not losing anything since I only have something to gain.
And now thankfully I see, I'm not the only one.

The Written Word - A Tribute

I'm addicted to words. I love it. In books, in movies, in songs, in a cafe with my best friend sharing coffee and highly caloric treats. I love hearing the way it sounds when my babies say 'Watch me, Mama' or my husband says 'I love you' or the way I can still remember my grandma's voice as she passed on her wonderful wisdom.
The lyrics to a song can touch me like none other sometimes. A passage in a story can bring on the most vivid scene in my head, building the house its speaks of or the person it describes right before my eyes. In a movie, certain words become catchphrases, iconic to the point where they take on a life of their own.
But they all start at the same place - the page. Perhaps on a computer or maybe an idea jotted down on a scrap of paper. A name or sentence written on a crumpled napkin and shoved in a purse to grow its own story later. The page takes all kinds.
But its on this page that lies my true addiction - the written word.
My babies and I go to the library once a week. They don't ask to go for ice cream or to the movies on Fridays when they get home from school, but instead pack their bag of books and off we go. If something else has to be done then, like yesterday, then Saturday mornings are all about that followed by a trip to the book store. Today was no exception.
I just love the smell that a library has. Nothing compares to it, not even a bookstore can truly compete. The quiet interior housing millions of words, thousands of stories, all guarded by three or four trustworthy people who love these stories like I do. Mention a book to them and they know it. They are passionate with love or hate for it and what are we fired up about? Words.
In writing my books, I find myself getting caught up in the words. I want to describe each thing with flowing overwrought beauty or hideousness. There can't be enough words sometimes. You carefully craft your story, hold the characters close to your heart, they live and breathe within you and yet the first thing you have to tell about the book - word count.
And that's the thing - they do count! Every. Single. Word.
I am surrounded by words in my world. I have music coming out my ears, and not that it all has lyrics, but the vast majority - yes, and each one means something. I am, of course addicted to Twitter and Facebook, and the words that people write there. I have posters and paintings and books filled with quotes and sayings and memories put into words, a lifetime worth of words that have made of my life. I also have a vast collection of books in my home - all of us in my family being the big readers we are. I have magazines and far too many subscriptions that come in every month. I have scripts from plays I've done as well as ones I haven't. I have collections of musings by people I admire, just hoping I might learn something from their words. I just can't turn it away. Words you can carry with you when you go.
Think about the last time someone said something to you that was hurtful. Had they slapped you, you would be healed and forgotten the feeling...but the words, they remain. They are powerful. More powerful sometimes than we would even like them to be. Leaders are born with the right words and taken down just as easily with the wrong ones.
But the greatest of all these is a book, the ultimate written word. I love the feel of the paper between my fingers, the crisp, yet gentle sound of a page turning, the way you smile like an idiot and cry like a fool over these simple things printed within, with ink on pieces of mashed trees - words.
I'm not saying that a Nook or an iPad or a collection of eBooks aren't the way to go...it probably is. And it would be much easier than hauling the three or four books I'm always reading, the five magazines I'm halfway through and the two or three notebooks with a slew of pens and pencils for the moments inspiration grabs me to make my own written words. I get it, but I can't do it.
When I first got my iPhone I downloaded some books. It was nice to have when the kids were running late from an activity or there was a line where ever I might be, but it just wasn't the same. The Great Gatsby is great to me not just for the story, but also for the yellowed color of the aged pages, the way the spine is broken in no less than seven places, the way the cover will fall off at any minute despite the scotch tape that litters it. It's the eyes staring out from a blue sky. It's not just the story or the words, its the experience, an old friend if you will.
It gets you through the moment of something or maybe its your first love of reading. I have my copy of The Westing Game from the sixth grade. I loaned it to my son. He fell in love with the little mystery just like I did and when we went to purchase a copy all his own we were both more than a little disappointed it didn't have the same cool cover as mine. I thumbed through it and the words were the same but the pages were white and new and hadn't been read ten times by a blonde headed aspiring dancer in the summer between 6th and 7th grade because her parents split up and she moved to a new town and those characters were her closest friends.
No, nothing can ever replace opening a book and being able to hold an entire universe in your hands.
Every time I get a postcard with one of my magazines telling me to subscribe online I cringe a bit. I love the glossy pages, the way the ink smears on my fingers due to the steam of the water when I'm reading in the bath. The movie reviews in EW come with a smartphone icon to view the trailer online and promise more of the story. But what if I want to read the story myself? Right there? Yes, I can read it online, but I can't pick up the computer and plop it down on the table in front of my husband and say "You gotta read this!" And the irony that you will read this on the computer and not by hard copy is not lost on me.
As a now aspiring writer, it's a scary thing that my love affair with the written word with one day be obsolete in the way I know it. I won't have one or two books that are out of print, but they all will be. My shelves will not be filled with stories but relics as well. Relics of a time when you could spend a Saturday afternoon at the library or bookstore and find those other kindred spirits. We'll all be in our own space, talking through virtual chat rooms or worse, not talking at all.
I know eventually I'll succumb and get myself an eReader. I know every eBook saves trees and makes my inner hippie dance around with flowers in her hair. I know there will come a day when we no longer print books. I know there will be a generation someday too soon that will have never held a textbook in their classroom. They will be able to type in the topic and a brain inside the machine in front of them will find what they need and they will never have to flip through the pages of encyclopedias. They will never know that smell of knowledge that a book can hold. They will no longer carry bags of heavy books to and from school but only a cover for their laptop.
But for now, I look over at my son, grinning ear to ear at his library book on this Saturday afternoon and I think...someday, but not yet.