Knock. Knock.

The most terrifying and exciting aspect of knocking on a door
is not knowing what happens next.

I’m exhausted. Honestly, with the exception of my final weeks of college, I can’t remember a time in my life I’ve ever felt this bone-weary.

I’m terrified. In the past six months I’ve watched door after door close (or never open). Except for this one.

I attended a writers’ conference in April that I couldn’t afford because of the generosity of others. I met incredible men and women who were perfectly placed in my life in that specific moment to encourage me to lift my hand one more time. And I returned with an editor wanting a proposal, an agent wanting to meet, and two-thirds of a book to rewrite.

It feels like an eternity has passed, but in reality, it’s just been shy of two months.

Most days I feel like I’ve made little progress, but in reality I’ve finished a complete re-write of a nearly 50,000 word middle grade fantasy, and I’m about to finish the most in-depth proposal I’ve ever written for both the editor and agent.

That’s why I’m shaking.

During my conference I heard from more than one editor and agent that of all the writers they request work from more than 80 percent never respond. So, I thought, for every 10 pieces they ask to see, they get maybe two?

At the time I thought such behavior was completely insane. We’re writers. No matter what stage of our career we’re in we’re working towards publication, right? Being terrified of sending out queries and proposals cold is one thing. I completely understood that, but if someone was asking to see my work…that was the dream, wasn’t it?

Seven weeks later I have a better understanding of why so many writers drop off.

Perhaps, like me, they feel moments of intense pressure to submit something so perfect the editor can’t do anything but accept it.

Perhaps, like me, they love the fact that someone is waiting to see their work, but they fear the moment they send that piece out it will be yet another door that closes, or refuses to open.

And the pressure and fear continues to build until it becomes more than they can handle.

But what about the ones who push through, despite all of that?

For me, the past several weeks have seemed so long because they’ve been so full (and not with just writing). One day blurs into the next because I’ve had to train myself to focus on one thing at a time. First by finishing my rewrite, then by turning my attention to the proposal.

I’ve come to accept there is no such thing as a perfect book or book proposal. There is only my best effort to complete something I am heart-and-soul passionate about. 

No matter what my writing resume looks like, there will always be the chance an editor or agent will say no. But if I don’t take the risk and follow through, I’m not giving them the chance to say yes, either.

And, as a friend reminded me last night when I had a momentary breakdown, if someone asks to see our work it’s because they saw in us during that brief moment our paths crossed something that intrigued them. That made them want to know more.

The question I have been asking myself every day since I got home is: Am I one of the majority who holds back? Or will I be one of the few who despite the feelings of uncertainty steps out and keeps trying?

Which is why today, like every day for the past seven weeks, I’m plopping myself into my chair and blocking out as many distractions as possible so I can finish what I started. Then I’m going to go see if this door in front of me is going to open when I knock.

How about you?

The Professor and the Equation

Image Courtesy of ThinkGeek.com

I had to take a calculus class my sophomore year of college. At the time I was a pre-med major with aspirations of living in a mud hut while saving children’s lives; a noble goal but ultimately not the correct life path for me. Math has never been my strong suit. In school, I could never get past letters being mixed with numbers in algebraic equations. In my mind, X is a letter, not a space holder, and A + B – C holds no numerical value so how can it equal 15?

So there I was, two-thirds of the country away from home, going to class every day trying to bail my sinking grade out with a thimble of understanding when one day the professor didn’t show. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Fifteen. At this point about half of the class got up and walked out, thrilled with the prospect of a free afternoon. The only ones who stayed were the brainiacs…and me. Twenty minutes. A few more students who didn’t need to worry about passing with anything less than a 95 slipped out the door, but instead of whooping about playing Frisbee golf, they were planning on filing a report. It was at that point I slipped my own two-hundred-dollar textbook into my thirty-dollar backpack. I no sooner zipped it closed and stood with the remaining four or five students when who should coming running through the door short of breath, loose-tied, disheveled-haired, and red-faced but the professor.

The door slammed closed behind him as he stretched his arms to block our panicked escape. “Nobody move! I’m so sorry I’m late. I got so wrapped up in this equation I’ve been working on I completely lost track of time! I’m giving you all an A for the day for waiting. Now let’s make the most of these last twenty minutes.”

Apart from being relieved about getting a few badly needed extra points, it baffled me how someone could be so engrossed in a math problem he could forget about his class. And then this week came along. Tuesday came and went without me updating my blog, then Wednesday…it’s now Thursday and I realized I’ve been so wrapped up in a new project of my own I’d completely forgotten about you!

I’ve come to realize over the course of the past eight years, it doesn’t matter if its writing, playing music, saving lives, or even solving complex math equations — if you’re truly passionate about something, you’re going to lose all track of time at some point. I loved working as a volunteer in the Emergency Room. I enjoyed helping others and shadowing the doctors as they listened to the patient and tried to determine exactly what was wrong and how to best treat the illness or injury. But looking back, I was never as passionate about medicine as I have become about writing. I have never felt more at home with myself as I do with a pen in my hand and words on a page. And with one other exception, it’s rare that I’ve felt as passionate about a specific project as I do about the one I’m working on right now. A project I hope to share with you very soon.

What are you passionate about when it comes to writing? Do you thrill at the thought of creating a brand new world? Do you forget about the roast in the oven while carefully crafting a devotional article? Or do you tend to seek the truth through non-fiction? Whatever it is, I hope that like my professor, you throw yourself so fully into your writing that everything else is forgotten for a few extra minutes today. And then again tomorrow.

Oh, and by the way, my professor managed to solve that equation by the end of the semester and I walked out of that class with the only C I’ve ever been proud of despite bombing the final, and largely due to the kindness of a man who saw me diligently struggling through the concepts and continually asking for help from him and a couple of other classmates.