By now, you probably know that I've published a novel. I am beyond excited to share it with you.
Thinking back, it was a hundred marathons, a long adventure that took over six years to complete. I loved the whole journey, albeit very long. See, I wasn't ready to write the novel at the beginning. Instead, I was okay with brewing the idea. Soon the idea grew into a few definitive characters and a solid beginning and end. Before long, my fingertips began to tickle keyboard keys, and long drives became a melting pot of ideas stirring through my head about how to move the story from the only two parts I knew for sure to the thousands of scenes in between. I got to 100 pages, and I shared those with a good friend who loves to read. Her positivity gave me the push I needed to move forward. I lost sleep. I've forgotten long parts of the days where I was frozen in a book-building daydream. Finally, the bits and pieces that meshed all the parts together solidified, and I could finish writing the damn thing. I put two days aside and typed for 14 hours straight on both days. At the end of that particular non-stop race, I sobbed as my fingers typed the last pages. My daughters watched as I cried and smiled while asking me if I was okay. And wondering if I'd lost my mind. I thought that was the hard part. Much harder, though, was the painstaking part of the editing and re-reading, tweaking, and re-reading again. Sending out queries. Heart-stopping and then sinking as rejection letters came in. I felt like I'd found the perfect rep and heard nothing back, but I always trusted myself and my intuition. Always believing the words and guidance of friends and family. Reaching beyond my circle, getting critiques and advice from others, and marching back to the drawing board. Many, many declarations of being done, only to find a tiny tweak. A way to make it better. Always believing my work was beyond good enough. Knowing it was worth it.
One day, after amazing advice from Robbin Simons, I decided that if I'd done the legwork already, why not finish it? So began more marathons. Educating myself and navigating the depths of social media, developing websites, befriending followers and building more and more networks of people and groups. I hired a graphic artist. And then a formatter. Business cards. Stickers. Postcards. Then, back in November 2017, I got a message at work, and I raced home to find 400 of my babies wrapped carefully into boxes.
And so began a whole new marathon.
In the following year, I sold a whole bunch and read reviews. The sales ventured away from my circle and entered groups of people I didn't know. Out of the blue, a lady passed me $20 and bought a book in passing one day. Patience has rewarded me.
Often I feel like time has her own nasty agenda. On the other hand, I have found most often that I positively benefited from the wait. In the mix of wanting to achieve as much as possible in life, I have found the importance of finding a sort of perfection in my timing. I don't force friendships or events or wishes I have. I work hard, don't get me wrong, but I let time do her thing. Anything rushed or forced becomes something that's not really ready and complete. Or genuine.
The point is….patience brings with it, extraordinary sweetness. There is purity to the outcome of things not rushed. And that, my friends, is well worth the wait.