Small Pond Syndrome

There’s nothing small about Canada except for its population density. At only four people per square kilometre, we’d come in dead last if not for Nabibia, Australia, Western Sahara, Mongolia, Pitcairn Islands, Falkland Islands, and Greenland. (In contrast, the U.S. has 35 people per square kilometre, even with Alaska pulling the average down.)

I mention this because of something we call Big Fish/Small Pond. The late Canadian actor Larry Mann said, “You can be a full-time garbage collector in Toronto and you’ll be accepted as such. Nobody says, ‘If he were any good he’d be collecting garbage in New York.’ Or you can be a successful doctor or lawyer or accountant. You’re not expected to prove how good you are by moving away to practice medicine or Law or accounting in Hollywood or London. Only in show business [the arts] does this thing exist, where no matter how good you are, none of it counts because you’re doing it here.”

Every time I release a new book, I enter that book in at least two contests. One is the Word Awards, sponsored by The Word Guild here in Canada, which covers all types of writing—fiction, nonfiction, columns, articles, blogs, song lyrics, poetry, short stories, and scripts. The Guild exists to encourage Canadian Christian writers, whether writing for the Christian or general market. Each year, it’s been my honour to win in at least one of these categories. In fact, judges recently chose my novel, Lilly’s Promise, as Best Book of the Year for fiction. While I in no way take this for granted and I deeply appreciate the recognition, I confess to supposing it doesn’t really count.

And here’s why. Seventeen American literary agents rejected that book before I found one who agreed to represent me. She then proceeded to pitch the book to traditional Christian publishers in the U.S. who all rejected it. Eventually, with nowhere else to try, I entered the unpublished manuscript in a contest here at home, where it won a free publishing package and went on to win this additional honour this year.

The other contest in which I’ve entered all my eligible books is with the American Christian Fiction Writers. Although open to non-Americans, and although genres are divided into far more sub-genres, narrowing the competition, not one of my books has ever made the shortlist. There, I am but one small fish in a vast pond of many Christian writers.

Why, you might wonder, did I bother pursuing an agent or publisher in the U.S. when I’m clearly seeing more success here at home? Ironically, even though my stories are set here, ninety percent of my readers are Americans. The U.S. simply has more readers with more discretionary income. Canada does not have any traditional Christian publishers or agents. We only have the kind where the author must foot at least part of the bill in hopes of breaking even or making a bit of profit.

You can see why we Canadians need an organization like The Word Guild. You can see why I’m so grateful for it. You can see why I’m learning to “stay in my own lane” and not worry about losing contests to the fish in the bigger pond down south. It’s enough to know my work was seen and critiqued by professionals in the industry.

I’m sharing this today in hopes that you can see the value of what we have going for us here in Canada, and the advantage our “small pond” sometimes offers. Instead of viewing our smaller population as a drawback, there’s much to be said for living and competing here. Announcing awards on social media and seeing it light up with congratulatory pings provides an encouraging boost that authors more talented than I will not be privileged to experience.

Sometimes success is all about the size of your pond.

On a related note, I’m celebrating my new release, April’s Promise with a come-and-go event at the Portage Library on Saturday, October 21 from 11:00 – 2:00. I’d love to see you there!

 

Jobs that Taught Me about Life: The Finale

It’s Labour Day and time to be wrapping up my series on jobs. I could write about my ten years at Portage Alliance Church that followed the college job, where I went from being the senior pastor's administrative assistant to a communications coordinator, to the director of creative arts. How I led the drama team and put together newsletters and PowerPoint shows and Sunday programs and schedules for the music and tech teams. How I wrote drama scripts and articles and produced Christmas banquets. How I got burned out.

Or I could write about how I traded all that for a part-time job at City Hall where I could simply do my job and go home. No evening meetings or Sunday mornings or putting in extra time. No people to lead. Knowing everything I did would be double-checked by a superior, so I could relax. How I studied through the required courses to obtain a Certificate in Manitoba Municipal Administration and got to attend a graduation ceremony for the first time since high school. How I would learn to conduct municipal elections and prepare agendas and minutes for city council meetings and so much more. How I would get to write speeches for the mayor sometimes. How hard it is to believe I’ve already been there over seven years.

Or I could tell about how the city hall job freed up time to pursue writing. How by the second year I would see two of the plays and several of the short sketches we’d done at church published, as well as some Chicken Soup for the Soul stories. How I’d ask for and get a weekly newspaper column. How I’d keep working on my novel, take writing courses, attend conferences, and make it to the finals in a contest that would attract the attention of an agent who would eventually sell my book and I’d see it published in 2016. How I’d sign a contract on my second novel just five months later.

Each of those paragraphs could easily be a story for another day. Each could tell of the lessons God taught me, the way he has been there leading and guiding even when I couldn’t feel his presence or see his hand. Even when health issues brought me to my knees in tears and defeat and I couldn’t understand how or why he heals some and not others. Even when I failed miserably to hear his voice.

Last week I was privileged to attend the American Christian Fiction Writers conference in Nashville where I learned from Allen Arnold about how we can choose to exist in one of two realms: the Orphan realm or the Freedom realm. When we exist in the orphan realm, we believe life is up to us. If anything good is going to happen, it’s because we work and strive to make it happen. It’s a place of fear, of hoarding, of control, of never having enough because we don’t know we have a loving Father who wants to invite us into something better.

The Freedom Realm is a land of “with.” In it, our Father invites us to do the things we love with him. It’s a place of fierce dependence on God, of peace and joy, of knowing that control is an illusion. It’s a place where “pro and con” lists are a toxic way to make decisions because they depend on my knowledge of the future. It’s a place of knowing I am a beloved daughter of God and I can enter into a new adventure with him every morning, every moment, and not need to have all the answers.

It’s where I want to live.

We closed the session with a look at a popular video, Derek Redmond’s famous run in the 1992 Olympics where a torn hamstring stopped him on the track but where he got back up and hobbled to the finish line. You’ve probably seen it. It’s a powerfully moving clip all by itself. The world has held it up as a story of courage and never giving up. 

But it’s so much more. As I watched it again, I saw myself as that runner. The injury became my most recent wound, the loss of my newspaper column which was still stinging my heart. My Father comes down out of the stands to be with me. He fiercely defends me against those who would remove me from the race. And he supports me to the finish line.

Naturally, I was a complete and blubbering wreck. But it got worse.

The next morning during our worship time as we sang “Good, good Father,” God asked me something. “What if it’s about more than the lost column? What if that torn muscle represents your deepest wound, the thing that trips you up and speaks lies to your heart no matter how earnestly and frequently you’ve forgiven the perpetrator?” As I attached those hurts to the Olympics scenario, the fierce protection of my heavenly father’s love became more powerful still.

And I knew that’s where I wanted to live. Every moment.

Watch the video again. You’re the runner, hurling yourself down that track with all you’ve got to give. You’re in the lead, you’re set to win. Then life throws pain at you. You know what it is. That thing that happened when you were little. That thing that happened last week. Either way, you had no control over it. It hurt. And it still hurts. You believe it’s taken you out of the running. You get up and try to hobble along on your own.

But your Father comes. He defends. He supports. He comforts. He loves. He finishes the race with you. You are not alone. You do not have to live in the orphan realm. 

Derek Redmond says, in spite of the millions of people who have been encouraged by his story, he would still prefer to have won the gold medal in Barcelona that day. But God knows that the areas where we are scarred and wounded are a gateway to our greatest strength. 

Let him lead you there.

(To order Allen Arnold's book, The Story of WITH, click HERE.)