The Agony of Victory, the Thrill of Defeat

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     On the off chance there’s a reader who still gives a fig and has not heard the news by some other means, here’s an update on the Operation First Novel contest for which my book was a contender.

     Mom and I flew to Denver and found our way to the fancy-shmancy hotel hosting the Writing for the Soul conference. Jerry B. Jenkins made the big announcement the first night, with three of the five finalists in attendance.

      After spending the previous month emailing back and forth, Jim, Peter, and I felt like old friends when we finally met face to face. We sat together for moral support, wishing Clarice and Kimberley had been able to join us. In alphabetical order, they called us to the front while our photos came up on the big screens along with the title and tag-line for each book. Just like the Oscars! (Well, ok, maybe not just like. Work with me.)

     The three of us stood there while the CEO of Worthy Publishing, the contest’s sponsor, waxed eloquent. I can’t speak for the others, but I stood there with heart racing and antiperspirant begging for mercy. Nodding and smiling, I pretended to listen. I couldn’t tell you a word the man said to save my life.

     Then they announced the name of the winner.

     Was it mine? Nope.

     Had I expected it would be? Nope.

     Was I disappointed anyway? Yep

     Was I happy for Peter? You bet I was.

      Did I secretly hope my congratulatory hug might strangle him? Naturally.

     Was my mother bummed? Yeah, I think so.

     Was my mother proud anyway? Yep.

     Did everyone back home say all the right things? They sure did.

     Did I learn some things through the experience? Absolutely.

     Does God still love me?

     Well now, let’s think about that.

     While I accused him otherwise, the truth is, he loves me too much. Too much to let me receive things I’m not ready for. Too much to allow my book to see publication before it’s the best it can be. Too much to make it easy for me. Too much to not teach me patience and persistence. Too much to strike me dead for questioning his strange timing. Too much to let my influence outgrow my character.

     Like any good and wise parent, God knows when (if ever) I’ll be ready to handle what might come with such a sizable book contract. For the rest of the weekend, Peter found himself besieged by other writers looking for advice. He told me that while he enjoyed the attention, it exhausted him. Meanwhile, I felt buoyed by folks telling me how blessed they felt to see Jim and me celebrating for Peter.

     “I couldn’t tell who won,” one lady said. “You looked genuinely happy, but I was pretty sure your name wasn’t Peter!”

     And you know what? I was. And I guess that’s one of the things I learned. It really is possible to be disappointed and happy at the same time.

     Been disappointed lately? Maybe God loves you too much, too. Promise me you won’t quit.

     I sure don’t intend to. 

(Photos courtesy Christian Writers Guild)

   

Final Stages

 

It’s time to share the disturbing news with my blog readers: I regret to tell you I am now experiencing advanced and possibly final stages of Operation First Novel Finalists Stress Syndrome. I have all five of these classic symptoms:

·         You’re convinced you are stuck in some sort of freaky time warp, since February 16 never seems to get any closer.  At best, the month between the announcement and the conference must be the longest in the history of the world.

·         On the flip side, you don’t really want the 16th to arrive because the longer you’re stuck in this warp, the longer you can indulge in occasional fantasies where you actually walk away with the grand prize.

·         You are already waterlogged, trying to increase your daily water intake in preparation for Mile High City. Altitude sickness is just as fun as it sounds.

·         You’re convinced you are WAY out of your league. You learn you are up against History and English majors and you think “I haven’t graduated from anything since high school, about 150 years ago. This has to be an administrative error. Maybe someone else with my name wrote another book by the same title. Or maybe they needed a token foreigner.”

·         Your new prayer is: “Lord, thank you that you love me too much to allow my novel to be published before it’s ready, or before its author is ready. Thank you that you know when that will be. Hopefully, not posthumously. Amen.”

The Competition Heats Up....in the Warmest of Ways!

     “Rocky Mountain High” plays consistently in my head these days as I anticipate my trip to Denver on February 16 for the Writing for the Soul conference. Mom and I will soak up a flood of excellent teaching from topnotch writers and editors, and finally find out who wins the “Operation First Novel” competition!

     Connecting with the other four finalists via email has been like a delightful road trip so far. We’re all experiencing the effects of “FSS” (Finalists Stress Syndrome) and comparing symptoms as though we belonged to Hypochondriacs Anonymous. Here are our top five: 

1.      Friends say "Congratulations, you must be so excited!" and you look at them and think "OK, how they feel probably represents how I should feel, but I'm still too stunned."

2.      Friends say "I'm praying for you to win" and you feel the need to apologize to God for them.

3.      You worry that your friends will throw up if they see one more link to Christian Writers Guild on your Facebook page.

4.      You’re afraid of winning because then they’ll expect you to follow your own act.

5.      You pray "God, may the book the world needs most be the one to get picked," and then you cry because you're pretty certain it's not yours.

     We tease and taunt each other, but what has impressed me most is the warm camaraderie, genuine encouragement, and humble helpfulness I see among this group.

     Peter Leavell from Idaho (author of Songs of Captivity) said, “I'll admit it openly, all of those sum up my exact experiences. I've thought about contacting others who have been through this process, because I was feeling alone. Glad you emailed. We do need to pray for one another. Can't wait to meet all of you!”

     Jim Hamlett from South Carolina (author of Moe) said, “You've hit at least half the nails on the head. You made me laugh. And you've reminded me that our communion is not around a contest, but a cause. What a joy to be in such a crowd.”

     Kimberley Gardner Graham of Memphis (author of The Rocking Horse of Tuscumbia) said, “Ah! I love this list so much. Yes, I’m feeling all of those emotions. What a gift to know we’re all in this together.”

     Clarice James from New Hampshire (author of Party of One) said, “Thanks for giving me a laugh and helping me to understand my ‘symptoms.’ Knowing that using our gift is an offering to God is what keeps me going.”

     Does this sound like cut-throat competition, trash-talking, or psyching out one’s opponents to you? Certainly, all five of us would love to see our own book published and take home the 20 grand. But we belong to the same team and will celebrate the victory no matter who wins.

     I like to think this difference is because of the first word in the Guild’s name: Christian. Not all Christians make me proud to call myself one, but these folks do. What’s more, I am pleased to learn from them and to call them my friends.

     By the way, my favorite line in John Denver’s somewhat mysterious song? “Seeking grace in every step he takes…”

The Best Laid Plans

     If you saw the recent Daily Graphic article, you know that my novel, The Silver Suitcase, placed in the top five in the Christian Writers Guild's Operation First Novel contest, out of 110 competitors. Thank you to those who have so warmly congratulated me—it means more than I can express.

     One of these five books will be published and the author awarded $20,000. To keep things suspenseful, the winner won’t be announced until February 16 at their writers’ conference in Denver. I cut the article out and stuck it to my fridge, yet I’m still having trouble believing it!

     If this sounds déjà vu, it’s because last year I placed in the top ten. But by the time I left for the conference, I knew I was out of the running and could relax, more or less. This year I hadn’t planned to attend at all.

     My plan was neat and tidy and sensible. I’d get my critique back, re-work the book again, and enter it for the third-time’s-a-charm next year. I would save up my money and vacation time. And my health would be back to normal. Yes sir, 2013 would be my year.

     It seems God works on a different timetable. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t be more thrilled with this surprising top-five turn of events. But suddenly I was faced with the dilemma of whether to go to the conference. I had set aside neither money nor vacation time. My health issues require a daily nap lest by suppertime, I start curling up like an eight month-old fetus. And why on earth would someone with lung issues go anywhere near the mile-high city where every breath provides only half the oxygen you get at sea level?

     Yet on the off-off-off-off chance I would win and not be there… well, how crazy is that? And what if I don’t place next year? And what if my health only gets worse instead?

     I can work myself into a pretty good stew.

     Friends and family were telling me to go. My husband practically threatened to toss me in a snow bank if I didn’t. Then my 80-year old mother offered to come along, “if you think it would help."  The same day, two different friends posted two different scripture verses within minutes of each other. Neither intended it specifically for me. These two do not know each other and I  am their only mutual friend. The first was Isaiah 31:1. “Woe to those who… rely on horses…and in the great strength of their horsemen, but do not seek help from the Lord.” The other was Psalm 33:17. "A horse is a vain hope for safety; Neither shall it deliver any by its great strength.”

     What does any of this have to do with horses? Nothing, except metaphorically. I was definitely trusting in the wrong things and forgetting where true strength comes from.

     So, you guessed it—I’m going. And so is Mom. Maybe she’ll get fired up to write a sequel to her autobiography. Maybe I’ll find a publisher and maybe I won’t. Maybe an agent will take me on, or maybe I’ll spend the three days curled up like a fetus.

    And just maybe this is more about making memories with my mother than it is about any silly book. Stay tuned.

Exciting New Developments...

Well, it would be downright silly of me to not post this exciting new development on my very own blog, now wouldn't it? And here. Thank you Lord! Though I admit I question your timing since I hadn't planned on attending this year's conference.

While awaiting the announcement of the final five, I kept thinking it would be simpler if I didn't make it onto the list. I could be sad for a day or two and then get on with my regularly scheduled programming. I'd get my critique, re-work the book again, enter an improved version next year. Save up enough money in the next year, book vacation for conference time, and hopefully, be feeling healthy again by then. Perfect timing, in my eyes.

Instead, I am now trying to decide whether to go this year. Money's tight but not impossible. Time off work can be arranged. It's the health thing that's holding me back, even though everyone I love is encouraging me to go. I'm just not sure they get how crappy I feel most of the time. And we all know right where we want to be when we're sick, right? Our very own bed!  Not in mile-high city where you have to drink a gajillion glasses of water a day just to stave off altitude sickness. Not a thousand miles away at a big-time conference where you have to look good and be "ON" every moment of the day as you try to sell your book to the right editor and agent. It takes an incredible amount of physical and emotional energy, at least for a basically introverted bumpkin like myself.

I realize how horribly spoiled and ungrateful and wimpy this must sound. I just think it's a horrific lot of money if I end up skipping out of half the events so I can sleep.

And then I remember I may be even less well next year. I may not place next year. They may not even hold the contest next year, OR the conference, for that matter. And if by some miracle I did win this year, I'd be kicking myself for years if I wasn't there.

What is God saying to me? Does "Be still and know..." mean I'm to be still and stay home? Let the chips fall? Or does it mean to go, trusting him to handle the health and energy issues? His strength in my weakness and all that. Or does it really matter to him one way or the other? I suspect He's far more concerned about whether my heart's surrendered to his. If anyone has any wisdom to share, I'd appreciate it!