[This week’s blog post, take two.]
My original post I spent the past forty minutes writing laid out all the ways the publishing world is lined up against me.
But then I simply got tired of my own drivel.
Enough whining, I told myself.
I knew the odds were steeply against me before I signed Blind Turn with an independent press.
I did it anyway, so I don’t get to whine now about the unfairness of the publication world and how the big five (soon to be four when Penguin-Random House officially buys Simon & Schuster) publication houses dictate what everyone buys and reads.
Why would it be any different for me?
All of us want to believe we are special. I told my kids they were special every night as I sat on the edge of their beds to read a story and say a word of thanks for their day, their blessings, and the fact that they were so very special. But sometimes I wonder if I did them any favors by pushing that belief on them.
In too many ways we are all alike. Humans with obvious insecurities, petty issues, selfish tendencies, and lazy natures that lean in the direction of apathy.
Thankfully, though, in plenty of ways, we aren’t like each other. We are unique snowflakes or thumbprints or pasta sauces or irises.
And I do believe my kids are special.
Just like I believe that YOU are special.
(Yes, I’m channeling Mr. Rogers here, but I think he was on to something.)
If you didn’t believe you were special, why would you even get out of bed? Why would you try anything new? Why would you share your opinion? Why would you help another person?
You certainly couldn’t write a book if you didn’t believe you were special. You have to believe you have something unique to say, something other people would want to read, even pay to read.
It’s a monstrous leap of faith in yourself to put words to a page and send that page out into the world.
It’s a gamble, too. It might fall on critical or cruel ears, or much worse, deaf ears.
It might make people angry or it might cause them to laugh or scoff at you.
But….it might make them think. It might make them wonder. It might make them examine the folds of their own heart.
It might make them feel.
And feeling is the most important part of living. Feeling nothing is one definition for depression; it is also the definition of death.
So, discouraged as I am, today I shoved all of that aside, sweeping my arm across the desk of my heart, shoving all the jealousy and frustration and exhaustion to the floor. I cleared a space to write something new.
I’m carefully examining that heart now with fresh eyes, looking for what is unique, even special. Choosing the pieces I will hold up to the light and then transcribe onto the page in a story that I hope will reach someone, somewhere.
And make them feel something.
What’s tumbling around in your own heart? Maybe it’s time you put it on the page and shared it with the world.
Because you ARE special.
We all are.
Hey, thanks for reading. I know you’ve got lots of options, so thanks for sharing a few of your minutes with me.
If you’re curious about what else I’m up to, check out my website, CaraWrites.com.
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My book, 100 Dogs & Counting: One Woman, Ten Thousand Miles, and a Journey Into the Heart of Shelters and Rescues was released July 2020 from Pegasus books and is available anywhere books are sold, but if you’d like some help finding it (or want to read some lovely reviews), click here.