Some days my writer’s heart is more fragile than I’d like to admit. I think it is because writing is such a personal art, and so when you’re rejected, it doesn’t feel like a teacher telling you to edit … it feels like someone saying they don’t like you and that hurts worse. For as many accomplishments as I have been blessed to have this past year, I still pray fervently that I’ll be able to push this passion toward something more. Last Saturday I sent out twenty query letters … I already got three rejections. And sometimes my thick skin isn’t as thick as I like to pretend it is … and my upper lip isn’t as stiff as it should be … and my chin might just wobble a little as I heave in a breath and tell myself, “Just keep going.”
When I’m feeling a little bruised – and maybe just a little bit broken, I am instantly given the gift of my parents – of my mom who tells me I’m her inspiration to keep going – of my daddy who reminds me of Neverland.
And then I smile and write some more. Tonight … quite when I needed to hear it the most, I received an email telling me that two more pieces are getting published. I might not be there, but I am here. I might not be then, but I am now.
And here …
and now …
might just be exactly the place I’m meant to be.
Carry on word-filled hearts. Like my daddy says, “I’m always right here,” with you.