Fear and Worth: An Update

I know this update is overdue.  Really.  And I'm sorry its taken so long to post.  The thing is, it's taken a long time to sift through the chaos that is my brain as of late.

Seriously.  Chaos.  

I've been processing a lot of new stuff, and - in case there was ever any doubt - it all circles back to my writing.

The other day I was making some guacamole at work and was imagining out what I would say if I were speaking to a group about writing.  (Incidentally, this is not just vain daydreaming, folks: Doxacon.   August 2017. Washington, D.C.  Be there.)  I kept coming back to the idea of talents, specifically the biblical parable of The Talents.

For those who are unfamiliar, there is, in the Bible, a story Jesus tells about servants who were given talents (a type of money).  Those who invested and used the talents were rewarded, while the poor sap who was so afraid of losing it he buried it in the ground was definitely not rewarded.  He was cast out into a place of weeping and gnashing of teeth.  Just a quick side note here.  At the time this parable was told, weeping and gnashing of teeth were expressions of grief.  As with anything biblical, there's a plethora of ways to interpret this story, but the most straightforward seems to be this:

We are given talents.  If we use the talents we are further blessed.  If we hide our talents we become grief stricken.  

I am a writer.  Writing is one of my talents.  It always has been.  In elementary school I crafted stories out of those, "write a sentence for each spelling word" assignments.  In high school I could certainly write essays well, but the creative writing was where I excelled.  And I have always, somehow, known that someday my words would be in print.  Back when Border's bookstores were still around I used to go and find exactly where my book would sit on the shelf.  It was my sacred ritual.  I couldn't leave the store without at least visiting my books' future home.  Even now, in the jumbo makeup store that has since taken its place, my eyes flick to that spot on the wall as I enter.  

My identity as "a writer" has always been there, whether I have actively used and invested (in) my talent or have hidden it away, buried deep beneath the surface.

Remember this picture?

Taken right after a rare manicure, apparently.

I posted it a few months ago.  I gave it a silly caption about being nervous to send my work off and said that even though it didn't necessarily count as a submission, it was the first move of a game called, "How Many Times Do I Get To Submit This?"

Well, I have an answer.

One.

One submission.

In a twist I was not even remotely expecting, my first submission resulted in representation.  I went to a conference to meet my tribe and to gain some guidance from a real, live agent as to how I should go about taking my next step.

Now, barely three months later, I am googling terms like, "comp titles," and asking my agent - my agent!! - questions that must seem obvious and remedial.  I am telling my friends and family that, oh yeah, we'll start pitching at the end of this month, and will see where things go from there.

What.
Is.
LIFE???

I am so excited - SO EXCITED!!! - I can hardly think straight.  It's difficult to stay in this current moment.  And I am terrified.  Which is why I haven't posted anything about this until now.

#truth

I am afraid.

I am afraid that I'll talk about this most recent update - signing with an agent - and then, poof! it'll disappear.  Deals fall through all the time.  I am afraid this will be one of those.

I am afraid that I have forgotten how to write a book.  The book I've written is the first of a series.  I have to write the rest of it.  And what if somehow I can't?  What if I've forgotten what it takes to put one word after another after another after another...?  What if I only had one book in me?

I am afraid to put myself out there.  In writing one must be real, must be true.  Even in fiction.  Especially in fiction.  I am afraid to show people my insides and have them find me wanting.

Which leads me to my main fear, the one that drives the others:  I am afraid I am not worthy.  I am afraid that there's been some crazy mistake.  I wonder, Who am I to be so presumptuous as to assume that my work is good enough?  

BUT CLEARLY IT IS.

I'm shocked that someone believes in this story enough to help it get published.

BUT CLEARLY THEY DO.

I'm just Steph, standing here, holding this freaky, little story - and it is a freaky, little story.  But I am also a writer.  And it is time for me to uncover my talent, and to take that risk of using and investing it.  Who knows how long this ride will be?  I certainly don't.  But I promise now that I will ride it out.  I will keep sifting and processing and facing those fears.  And though I and my words are works in progress, we'll get there someday.

Taking a page from Stuart Smalley's book now.

Current goal.

Small Enough

My heart is heavy.

 

Truly, I look around, and it seems that everywhere I turn I see pain.  Sorrow.  Hurt.  Anger.  Grief.  Lots and lots of grief.

 

It's been like this for a while, too.  I was anxious for summer to end this year, which is unusual for me.  But for some reason I told myself that if summer would just be done, all the heaviness and sadness would be done, too.

 

I'm tempted to say that it seems senseless, even though I have seen God moving through this time.  He is moving slowly, quietly, more like a mist than a strong force.  But, being human and oh-so-doubtful, I still find myself demanding answers of Him.  Why? I ask (not very nicely, either).  Why are people we love being taken from us?  Why can't my brother find a job?  Why are the people I love hurting so much?  Why did You give joy and anticipation only to take it away?  Why the loneliness?  Why the constant struggle just to make ends meet?  And cancer.  What the heck?  Cancer.  Cancer.  Cancer.  Why?  Why?  Why? 

 

I thought to myself today that I was just ready for something joyful.  And then immediately I felt ashamed of myself.  I needed to quiet myself, and to pay attention to the mist I am seeing moving, even through the sorrow.  But tonight I'm not sure I'm there.  Tonight I am not sure I can put the positive spin on it.  Tonight I want to cry out, "my God, my God!  Why have You forsaken us?" 

 

Tonight, when then only prayer that comes to mind is Lord, have mercy, I find - unsurprisingly - that a song expresses it so much better than I can.  Another night I will be able to be positive again.  I know I will.  But tonight, in this time when I look around and see so many people hurting, I pray that our great God, Who is clothed with strength and majesty, will be small enough that we can feel Him. 

 

 

Warrior Dash Training - Day 1

Ouch.  That's how I feel right now.  I've only just started training today and it's already hard.  Very.  Hard. 

What's driving me to do this?  I can't really give you an answer, except that sometimes I get pushed in a random direction.  I've learned the best thing to do in these situations is to mentally shrug my shoulders and just go with it.  Only in this case "just go with it" doesn't seem to mean "float along and enjoy the ride."  No, in this case "just go with it" seems to mean "wake up early and kick your own butt, disregarding the fact that as of yet you have no idea how you're getting there, or who is going with you, or any of that stuff."

But I suppose I should back up a bit and explain myself.

A few weeks ago I read a book called The Buried Life.  It's a PostSecret sort of book, except that instead of sharing secrets it reveals hopes.  People were asked one question: What do you want to do before you die?  Some of the answers made me laugh.  Some made me shake my head.  Reading the stories behind how some were achieved made me cry.  See, a few years ago four guys felt, well, Blah.  They were all in different types and stages of Blah, but they were there.  And one day they asked what they would do if they weren't stuck in Blah.  They started throwing out ideas, and then they wrote them down, and between the four of them they came up with a list of one hundred items.  And here's where it gets really good:  They actually set out to do them.  They had one condition, though - for every item they crossed off their own list they would help someone else cross an item off their list.  (It is a really great story.  I would definitely recommend reading the book, or at least going to their website, www.theburiedlife.com.)  When I closed the book I felt inspired.  I don't want to be stuck in Blah. 

As soon as I got home that night I pulled out a notebook and started writing my own list.  Some of my items are silly (#36 - wear a tutu skirt, #14 - Eat a turkey leg), some are serious (#1 - Fall in love, #2 - Get out of debt, #12 - Write a novel).  Some seem outrageously far-fetched (#18 - Go on the Jimmy Fallon Show, #20 - Be the voice of a Disney character), some are a little embarrassing (#30 - Go skinny dipping, #4 - Take a food challenge - and WIN).  And some are very private, a voice to my deepest desires and insecurities, items that only I will see crossed off in the notebook.  I currently have 39 items on my list - with the expectation that more will be added.  None of them are crossed off yet, but I am actively working on it. 

Which brings us back to my "ouch."  Well, almost.  I was recently hired as a youth director and as I was searching for ways to get the students involved AND have fun I came across a link that said, "Become a St. Jude's Warrior!"  I clicked, and was taken to the website for the Warrior Dash.

Excuse me.  I mean, The WARRIOR DASH!!!!

That's what it looks like in my head, at least.  I looked through the site and learned that the WARRIOR DASH!!!! is about 3.2 miles of running with 12 obstacles to get through.  Obstacles such as crawling under barbed wire, climbing over walls, jumping over fire.  Yes.  Jumping over fire.  (Strangely, this has become my favorite of the bunch.)

I (very) quickly realized there would be no way I could take a bunch of high schoolers to do this.  (I briefly imagined myself telling parents, "And then we will swim through dirty water.  And then jump over fire."  Yeah, right.)  But my next thought honestly shocked me.  "Steph.  You can do this."

"Nope." I answered myself.

"Yeah.  Totally."

"I'm sorry...Did you miss the part where they JUMP OVER FIRE??"

"You've done it before -"

"Truesies."

"-And it would be for a good cause."

Sigh... "True."

"Consider it."

"Fine.  I'll consider it."

When I got home that night I added to my list: #39 - Complete the Warrior Dash.

(It occurs to me now that #40 on my list should be "Stop these weird, little conversations you have with yourself," but they add so much fascination to my life that I just can't bring myself to do that.)

And #39 has a little something tacked onto it, at least in my mind.  Raise money for St. Jude's.  I have an amount I would like to strive for, but I'm still figuring out whether or not it's realistic.  Because the WARRIOR DASH!!!! that I am going to complete is October 27.  3.5 months. 

And so the training began today.  I'm embarrassed to admit that all things considered it wasn't that tough, but still I'm left thinking one thing: Ouch.

Although, let's be honest.  My "ouch" is a far cry from what would be considered "ouch" to those kids at St. Jude's. 

So I guess I kind of do know what's driving me to do this.  The Buried Life.  And these guys:

Long Time Gone...

It has certainly been such a long time.  A new post will be coming soon. 

Promise.