Final Drafts

At the ending of last month, I think a part of me had given up on writing. I have been holding space for my novel for the last ten years. And a part of me was just done already. Yes, I put a lot of work into it. Yes, it was a journey, but maybe I didn’t need to publish it. I was feeling this way because I was starting out on that agent and publisher search again. By March, I had already gotten a few rejections. And that was really making me think about just burning the manuscript. Did I really want to go through the thirty something rejections again? Honestly, by the ending of April, I wasn’t sure. I was truly leaning toward just pushing ahead with my art career.

But like so many things in my life, the universe sends a messenger. This time it was a very good writer friend of mine. She is very wise and honest and kind. And when I told her that I was going to move on, she said to me, “Don’t you want closure?” Closure. That was the magic word. There are things in my life that I will never get closure on. I know what it is like to live with that open-ended feeling on a daily basis.

Now, the promise of closure was too tantalizing. The idea is that your body holds space for your projects whether it be a baby or a creative work. My body has been majorly constipated with this novel for the last ten years. While Nami, the main character, is not me, her story is representative of the kinds of things that have been a part of my life journey. What if I publish it on my own just to get it out of my system? What if after I publish it and let it go, all of that energy that had been invested in that book slowly returns back to me? What if I suddenly begin to create more art? Or even another book?

Three days after that phone call, I was doing a final edit of my novel. I was painting some preliminary cover ideas and I was looking into how I could self publish it. I don’t know when I’ll be done and the book will be out in the world, but the thought and promise of some sort of closure, is what is keeping me going.

Delight in the Little Things

I woke up this morning thinking about an old friend of mine. It was the last time I saw her, but it felt like she was here again, right there in my room. She was telling me about a new literary journal and how she had just been made its editor. In that moment, she handed me something. I held her business card in my hands and listened to her talk about it as if she had created a novel. It seemed like such a small part of the bigger journey, but she truly delighted in its design in a way that I couldn’t understand yet. She was so much wiser than I was at the time. Whereas I was someone who only thought about the destination, she didn’t mind the detours, the one-way streets, the delays. She already knew what was important.

She’s been gone now for over a decade, but I feel like she came to visit me this morning to remind me of something. You see, I’m about the begin some new projects and take on some new journeys.

She knows that the old me would gladly sprint to the finish line. But I feel like she’s here again to help me remember what is truly important, to remind me to stop and smell the roses, talk to a friend, savor that cake, kiss that baby’s head. She wants me to keep dreaming, but to never forget to delight in the little things, the ordinary, the everyday. She knew better than anyone that life is unpredictable and as you get older, those little things begin to mean everything.

In her last email to me, she encouraged me to keep writing. She told me how talented I was. “One day,” she said, “I’m going to see your name in lights.”

And when that day comes, I hope that wherever she is, she’ll see it and smile. I hope that she’ll know how I’m delighting in the journey, that it’s my way of honoring her path as well as my own.