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 Eventually, with nowhere else to try, I entered the unpublished manuscript in a contest here at home, where it won a free publishing package and went on to win this additional honour this year.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!

 

Election Time Again

Last time we held a municipal election, I still worked at city hall and could meet the candidates as soon as they registered. I also attended the candidate forums to hear their platforms. Sadly, any candidate forums I’m aware of this year were scheduled for Wednesday evenings when I’m busy teaching a Creative Writing class at Red River College. (More on that in another post.) I will need to work a little harder to discover where the various candidates stand and how much experience they might bring to that big oval table in our council chambers.

I hope you’ll take the time to attend a forum or research the candidates and their positions so you can make an informed decision. Remember, you can vote for up to six councilors. If you’re unsure, you don’t need to check six. Better to vote for fewer councilors than to randomly select the name of someone about whom you know nothing.

However you make your selections, I do hope you vote and that you’re grateful for the privilege. This world still has far too many places where voting is not a given—or worse, where you’re forced to vote but the ballot features only one candidate’s name.

I felt tickled to receive some winning votes myself last month, in another arena entirely. You may recall hearing about, or maybe you’ve read, my novel Rose Among Thornes. This book has ties to the Portage la Prairie area and I’m so pleased to tell you it won a couple of Word Awards on September 17. With its theme of the Japanese Canadian internments during World War II, “Rose” won The Word Guild’s Debra Feiguth Award for Social Justice. For this particular award, organizers contact the winner ahead of time so they can use a virtual acceptance speech. Since it took me only about ten takes to achieve an acceptable video, I’m grateful it wasn’t live!

Debra Fieguth was a gifted journalist whose freelance work appeared in many Canadian Christian publications, including Faith Today magazine. She authored two books and co-authored several more. Her death in 2016 was mourned by many, including hundreds of refugees, immigrants and international students whom she helped, befriended, or welcomed into her home. I can’t imagine a better award to win.

But then The Word Guild floored me. “Rose” also came away with the award for best book cover, out of 13 nominations. I can’t take any of the credit since the cover was designed by Hannah Linder. You can see more of Hannah’s excellent work on her website, HERE.

If all that isn’t enough, judges shocked me again by declaring the other novel I released last year, The Last Piece, winner in the best contemporary fiction category. Since this story begins in the 1930s and works its way to the present day, I wasn’t even certain it would qualify as contemporary.

Did you know that YOU are part of this success? Writing this blog post every week forces me to keep practicing and growing in my craft. Each time you choose to read one, it’s like a vote of confidence and I thank you.

But, while exciting and encouraging, there’s something about winning that can also feel intimidating. “What will be expected of me now?” is a question commonly asked. “Will I measure up? Can I follow through? What if I disappoint?”

As long as you don’t allow them to paralyze you, those are good questions, whether running for office or running for recognition. Trust that those who voted you in had valid reasons to do so. Then work hard, listen well, and do your best. 

Spoiled ... Rotten?

Opportunities to spoil my grandsons are few, so when Rascal Number Three slept over recently, I served food he liked, took him shopping for new swim trunks and then to the splash pad, bought him an ice cream cone “even though we had some at home,” and let him watch too much TV.

 

Every once in a while, I feel as though God spoils me like that. I experienced one of those days last month.

Oh, it didn’t begin so promising. With a major thunderstorm and three inches of rain overnight, I couldn’t wear the summer dress I’d planned (I know, boo hoo.) Then I needed to detour around a couple of lakes on Lorne Avenue to make my nine-a.m. optometrist’s appointment. His bill was more than I wanted to pay, too. But his news almost made it worthwhile—no change in my eyesight, and no need to return for two years.

Then the fun part began. I picked up my friend Amanda and we headed down the highway to Winnipeg. When you get out of town as infrequently as I do, this alone is special. We yackety-yacked for the 75 minutes it took us to reach the restaurant. Her mother-in-law had invited me as a guest author at her book club’s monthly meeting. They’d just read my novel, Bleak Landing.

I met six delightful new friends who asked brilliant questions, listened intently while I yammered on about my work, and purchased six of my books! They paid for my delicious lunch, reimbursed my mileage, and gifted me with a Chapters gift card. Is it any wonder I left the restaurant feeling spoiled?

I dropped Amanda off at her mother’s for an hour’s visit while I bummed around in Grant Park Shopping Center. At Winner’s, I treated myself to a new scented candle (Vanilla Bean!) and a package of Crayola’s “Colors of the World” pencil crayons. When I was a kid, any crayon box with 16 or more crayons included a pinky-peach one labeled “flesh.” A few years ago, Crayola came out with their “Colors of the World,” helping kids understand skin comes in many colors, all of them beautiful. My 24-pack ranges from “Extra Light Rose” to “Very Deep Almond.” Now I need pictures of people to color, or better yet, a visit from my youngest grandsons so they can join me. I’m proud of Crayola for making these available. 

But I digress.

I left McNally-Robinson for last, knowing that once I entered a bookstore, my remaining 45 minutes would pass in five. There, I found a copy of Genevieve Graham’s newest book. Graham writes excellent Canadian historical fiction.

Amanda and I yackety-yacked all the way to Portage. Later that evening, her hubby dropped by my house with a potted flower for our yard! Could this day get any better?

Apparently, it could. God had not yet iced the cake.

While I’d been out, The Word Guild announced the shortlist for the 2022 Word Awards. I felt so honored to learn that both novels I released in 2021 made the list: The Last Piece short-listed for Contemporary Fiction. Rose Among Thornes short-listed in three categories: Historical Fiction, Best Cover, and Social Justice! They’ll announce the winners next month.

It was still July, but I felt like a spoiled grandkid on Christmas Day.

Which do you enjoy more—being spoiled or spoiling others? May both happen for you this week

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Blind Date

The Sunday of Labor Day weekend, hubby and I took a little day trip. I could not recall the last time I’d been out of town, and we hadn’t done anything even remotely resembling “summer vacation.” The weather was perfect. We grabbed sandwiches at Subway and headed down the highway to Spruce Woods Provincial Park, which we hadn’t visited in over a decade.

Before starting out on what turned into a lovely hike, we stopped to use the washrooms. I’d never given much thought to how, when you pull open the door of a washroom—or any room you’ve never entered—you must “get your bearings” before doing anything else. Before I had a chance to do so, however, the door slammed shut behind me and I found myself in utter darkness. Had the bulbs burned out? Did someone blow a breaker? Why was there no window?

I thought I heard something. “Is anyone else in here?” I called.

No response.

I groped around, finding nothing but air. I managed to turn myself around, and when I finally felt the cool metal of the door, I realized how unobservant I am. Had the handle been on the right or left? Was it the kind you turn? Had I pulled or pushed? I hadn’t taken note of any of those things.

For the life of me, I could not find the handle! Maybe they’d installed one of those doors with a handle only on the outside and from the inside, you merely pushed. But then why didn’t it budge when I pushed? Had I dropped into some weird science fiction story where the door handle disappears and locks you in? I started banging on the door, knowing hubby had opted to wait on the bench outside with our water bottles. I called his name. I haven’t felt such a persistent “get me outta here” feeling since high school Algebra class.

About the same time hubby reached the door (wondering what on earth was wrong with me), I found the handle, turned it, and pulled. I should have pushed. Good grief.

When the door finally opened, sunlight flooded the room and a light switch appeared on the wall beside me—right where one might expect to find a light switch if one was expecting to need a light switch.

When I completed what I’d come for and turned to leave, I noticed a sign on the inside of the door: “To save energy, please turn off lights when you leave.” Wouldn’t a warning on the outside be a good idea? Frustrated and humiliated, I left the light on to spare the next person. While taking my turn on the bench with the water bottles, some other women came along. I suddenly wished I’d obeyed the sign, so I could determine whether I was the only one dopey enough to panic. Not until the next day did it dawn on me that my cell phone was in my backpack and would have provided a perfect flashlight. Duh.

The whole ordeal, though it took mere seconds, helped me realize how much I take my sight for granted. Last year I interviewed Gene McKenzie for a three-part series you may remember. He told me blindness can be exhausting because you must engage your brain in so many extra ways, not only utilizing your other senses but your observation skills and your memory, since your eyes can no longer tell you what’s what. Nothing like a teensy dose of personal experience to help me “see” what he meant.

That series about Gene, Lessons from a Blind Man, is in the running for a Word Guild Award. The winner will be announced tomorrow, September 25th, in a virtual ceremony from Toronto. If it wins, I’ll owe Gene even more gratitude.

For my vision, I owe my Creator gratitude every day of my life.

 

While You're Waiting...

Does the pandemic have you feeling like you’re just waiting? On hold? Biding the time? While many artists have been stalled—musicians with no concerts, actors with no shoots, dancers with no stage—nothing is stopping writers from continuing their craft. Writers can still write, blog, submit their work electronically and receive payment the same way. They can take advantage of writers’ webinars and online conferences that have sprung up due to the pandemic—events they might not have been able to afford in person. Their readers have more time to read. For many, the isolation works in their favor.

Or you’d think it would.

I’ve been surprised to find, both in my own life and in connecting with others online, that the opposite has also been true. While you’d expect writers to relish the opportunity, many have found themselves in a slump. Unmotivated. Uncreative. Unambitious. I don’t understand the psychology of it, but I’ve experienced the lethargy too. In March and April, my current novel-in-progress seemed completely stalled out about a quarter of the way in.

Then something happened on May 8. The Word Guild announced its awards short-list. I had entered two pieces: a column that appeared in this paper last summer called “No Such Thing as Unplanned,” and a manuscript for an unpublished novel called “April’s Promise.” Both made the short-list! The novel is up against four others, and the winning book—to be announced on June 13—will be published by Canadian publisher Castle Quay Books in 2021.

Obviously, I’d love to win.

Odds are four to one that I won’t.

The first question I asked myself was, “What will you do if you don’t win, Terrie? If you haven’t used this waiting time well, your current novel will still be just as far from completion, you’ll be less motivated than ever, and you’ll be five weeks older.”

Maybe there was an alternative.

I did some math. If I wrote 10,000 words per week, I could reach the end of my novel-in-progress by June 13. That way, win or lose, I’d have something to celebrate on awards night.

Challenging? For sure.

Impossible? Not with prayer.

I’m on track. My little mind game has provided the motivation I needed to hammer out 2,000 words each weekday, making up any shortfall on the weekend. Though I still have a ways to go before I can type THE END on my manuscript, I did reach the word count goal and the finish line is in sight. What’s more, I’ve been falling asleep happier at the end of each day knowing I’m accomplishing at least part of what God put me on this earth to do.

How about you? Are you in a spot saying, “all we can do is wait?” Ask yourself if that’s really true. Fill the waiting. Use the time well, because when the awaited day arrives, you’ll be five weeks older or five months older or five years older whether you do the work or not. Use whatever mind games or creative tricks you need to accomplish your goals. And don’t forget to pray.