I became me in my mother's womb
In the weaving together of all the generations past…
The stargazers and homesteaders
Plantation owners and slaves
Men and women
Strong and weak
Knitted into one
Cell by cell.
My mother sees them
One in my toothy smile
And one in my noisy tears
In my stubborn stance
And my easy laugh.
I see them in my wide nose
And my wild hair.
I feel them
In my love of lightning splitting the sky
And my fear of standing midway on a bridge.
I call it all me.
I pick it all apart
Wanting to throw pieces of them away
But I can't.
God has rearranged all their pasts
Into
Me
And into something new
Carried a step farther
Blended into all that is my husband
And all that came before him
Merged into this new babe in my arms
Who is so like me
And not me at all
The sum of everything
And the difference of being
His own person.
There was a time I almost quit writing.
I had been writing for years, struggling to produce a fiction manuscript worthy of publication while writing non-fiction articles to help with bills. It was a tough load to carry since I was also homeschooling my four children, but I finally landed a New York agent and figured that was it—I had finally made it. Not! After six months of hawking my manuscript around to publishers, my agent decided to quit the biz and seek a less demanding job so that she could start a family. Her parting words to me were to try the Christian market since most of my rejections were based on the Christian content of my book.
Unfortunately, my agent’s exit from my career coincided with a disasterous move to South Carolina. My husband stayed long enough to see the last box hefted off the moving truck and into the house before he packed up and headed to Michigan for a three month stint, part of his promotion agreement. I was left alone with the kids in a 150 year old house in a small rural town that lacked all the comforts of the big city. I didn’t know a soul. And then things got worse. The waterbed leaked all over the master bedroom. The toilets over flowed. Pipes burst in the front yard. And the yard was crawling with snakes and poisonous spiders.
Writing was the farthest thing from my mind.
After a while, though, when my husband returned and we knocked out six months worth of repairs and projects, the need to write rose up in me again, so I sat down and worked at it, but it seemed fruitless. Why was I even bothering? The one book I thought would sell hadn’t sold, and my children seemed to be growing up in leaps and bounds. I didn’t want all that to pass me by while I was chained to a keyboard tapping out stories that would never be read.
I was ready to quit until my buddy, author Terry Burns, gave me a boot, which he’d been doing for years, always there to kick me back into gear when I started to flail. “You’ve been writing for years,” he said, “but you’ve never really taken the time to market your stuff. You haven’t given it your all. Don’t quit until you can say you’ve really tried to sell that book.” He was right; I hadn’t followed my ex-agent’s advice. In fact, I didn’t know a thing about the Christian market (CBA). To enter that market would mean starting over from scratch with researching houses and authors and markets. I’d never even read a Christian novel. It seemed hopeless. God had other plans, though. Every time I considered quitting, one scripture kept flitting through my mind:
Matthew 24-30 (Douay-Rheims)
24 But he that had received the one talent, came and said: Lord, I know that thou art a hard man; thou reapest where thou hast not sown, and gatherest where thou hast not strewed. 25 And being afraid I went and hid thy talent in the earth: behold here thou hast that which is thine.
26 And his lord answering, said to him: Wicked and slothful servant, thou knewest that I reap where I sow not, and gather where I have not strewed: 27 Thou oughtest therefore to have committed my money to the bankers, and at my coming I should have received my own with usury. 28 Take ye away therefore the talent from him, and give it to him that hath ten talents. 29 For to every one that hath shall be given, and he shall abound: but from him that hath not, that also which he seemeth to have shall be taken away. 30 And the unprofitable servant cast ye out into the exterior darkness. There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
I thought about my dilemma long and hard. How could I weigh which was more important: motherhood or writing? Was the time away from my children worth the hours poured into books that might never be published? Which did God want of me?
After much prayer and contemplation, I put the problem at the foot of the cross. I set a New Years resolution: I would quit all fiction writing to concentrate on selling what I’d written, putting as much effort into marketing the book as I had in writing it, with a deadline of December 31st. If, after a full year and concerted effort, I didn’t have a book contract, I would take that as God’s permission to set aside my writing until my children were grown and out of the house.
I worked hard at marketing. I researched agents and editors. I read a plethora of Christian books to learn the market. I read publications touting the latest news in CBA. And I attended conferences. By mid-year, I had four agents offering representation. I chose the one I felt most comfortable with, but I still didn’t set my marketing aside. I continued to network and research. I wanted to know the people in the business and understand where my book was going.
As the months dragged by, I became convinced the book wasn’t going to sell. But then on Christmas Eve, I got a call from an editor rushing through an airport on his way out for Christmas. He loved my book and wanted to buy it.
What possessed him to bother calling me on Christmas Eve from the airport? Obviously God.
My daughter had other ideas, though. She said it wasn’t a contract, yet. “That,” I told her, “is God saying everything is still done in His time, not mine. He’s given me the answer I sought.” Indeed, the contract did come through.
Since then I've had three books published and have more yet to come.
