So in just a few weeks, my book will finally be arriving into the public hands. Yes, the long-awaited “first novel” will be hitting Amazon, leaving me with only a few short weeks left.
To panic. To perspire. Or to pull the plug on the whole deal.
Which I won’t. I don’t think. Mostly. But you see, while the journey to authorship is the dream many writers pine after, actually receiving those dreams is a whole different story.
That can scare you pantsless.
My book is a little bit about pantsless. It’s all about God, sex, and yoga. And mothers. As mothers are the ones that inform us of these things.
As a child, my mother always taught me that anything was possible. She also always told me to be careful what you wish for, as it just may come true. Both go hand in hand. Miracles happen everyday but do we really want them? Are we ready for how they will rock our souls, change our schedules, and flatten our safely paved plans. Even in small issues, like moral character. We wish for growth but are we ready. We all want to be kinder people, but really? Watch out. Pray for kindness and watch your pathway to fill up with annoying friends, the kind that help you ooze the last drop of compassion you didnt think you have. So you want greater patience? Prepare for the universe to throw lots of traffic at you. And old women one cart ahead of you in Trader Joes, counting every coupon only to realize Traders Joe’s doesn’t taken coupons.
And neither do you.
There is no shortcut to success. No paved path that hands you your dreams on a silver platter with an instruction packet of which fork to use. There is only trial. And lots of error. The latter of which you learn the most from, the former of which takes the longest. Give me error — at least its quick. Trial is a firepath where you learn your process – that’s cool too.
But please don’t give me success. That one leaves me sweating. unpaved path leading up to publication is a whole differenjt story.
You see, writers write because they have to. Because without putting down words on paper, we have no idea what we are doing, how we are living, or if any of this really matters. “How can I know what I think until I see what I say?” wrote E.M. Forster and he was write. Those of us who take up the pen in our hands daily do so, not because we are any more literary or brilliant than the rest. No – we do it to clear our brain fog. Without writing, we forget half our lives. Or at least I do. I woke up the other day, in fact, even as I prepare to launch myself into authorship, realizing I had no idea what day it was. Or how I spent the night before. Or the night before last.
And I didn’t have too much wine. Or even Alzheimers.
I simply had run out of pages in my journal 6 weeks ago. And had been too busy to buy a new moleskin.
Either way, for all of us, the days pour on quickly whether or not we are paying attention, however it is you pay attention and remember. Or fail to. And either way, if a dream is your goal, eventually the day will arrive where your dream is here. Or almost here.
And it may make you want to run and hide.
My family has a long history of fears of failing, but my mother and I share one thing: a great fear of success. If we (all) knew how powerful we could really become, it would scarus. “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure,” wrote Marianne Williamson. And she is right.
So how this boils down to a pending dream goes something like this. I’ll speak in writing terms because that is what I know. Or am now sweatin gthrough