![]() After the longest summer in memory, we’re finally transitioning to winter. A little snow this week offered a taste of my favorite weather: bright blue skies, snow balancing on the tree limbs, and temperatures in the 20s keeping the ground hard and the mud at bay. One sign of impending colder weather at my house is the dry-docking of our metal johnboat. In our case, this simply means hauling the boat out of the water and leaving it to rest upside-down on the nearby shore. I came back from an event last Sunday afternoon and saw the boat was missing from its slip. That always makes me a little sad. Although we rarely take the boat for a spin on the lake these days—lightweight kayaks are just so much easier—its mere presence suggests the possibility of a lazy summer day fishing on the lake. It evokes nostalgia for a more tranquil time when bobbing on the water was an acceptable way to spend an afternoon. But we have found that ice tends to build up inside the boat in the winter, and harsh winds can then heave the extra weight against the aging dock and pull hard at our makeshift mooring. Removing it from the water this time of year eliminates one thing we have to worry about. When it’s missing, however, I feel the void, the absence of something significant. I’m in the middle of another transition that could also symbolize a sort of loss, if I allowed it to. But I prefer to see it as an empowerment, a taking control of a situation that could at times feel hopeless, a situation that made me grapple with my own worth and the value of the work I’ve chosen to do. This is familiar territory for every writer who wants to see work published. I’ve spent several months reaching out to literary agents and small publishing houses searching for someone who might be willing to take a chance on my novel. Like so many writers, I now have only an inbox full of rejections to show for my efforts. It’s a tedious, time-consuming process that I still find interesting, but I’ve decided it’s just not how I want to wile away my hours. I’m ready to accept defeat and retake control of my project. It takes a certain self-assuredness—or even cockiness—that I don’t normally possess to assume that my book has value even though no legitimate enterprise agrees. What’s at stake, however, is small: personal embarrassment, acknowledgment that my talent and skills are limited, shunning by those with legitimate claim to the title “writer.” I can accept that. I have no other literary aspirations. I’m ready to take the chance. So I’m getting excited about designing the book that I want to offer to willing readers. I’ll be able to title it what I want, include the front matter I want, and rely on my talented graphic designer, Barbara Grinnell, to create a cover we both love. Of course, the final editing and proofing will now fall on me, or on other professionals I enlist to help. But I think I have a course mapped out, and I’m excited to be going down this road. It’s freeing sometimes to let go of dreams that are only weighing us down. Sometimes we have to turn a corner, move in another direction, accept a transition to an imperfect state of things. I’ve written a story that I want to share with friends and family who are interested, and I have a path for accomplishing that. That’s what’s important. And that I can do.
5 Comments
Fonda McWilliams
11/17/2019 10:01:09 pm
Congratulations on your clarity! Now, enjoy the process of bringing it to "full term" and birthing this extraordinary baby. You have an anticipatory reader here!
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David Hoefer
11/19/2019 08:19:31 am
I applaud your decision. Seems to me that you've already had, with your co-editor, a successful foray into self-publication. As for who is legitimately or illegitimately a writer, screw that. Respectability is the puniest of all bourgeois virtues. Your audience awaits.
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Joe Ford
11/19/2019 11:55:02 pm
Whew! I thought for a minute there you were about to tell us you were giving up your beautiful blogs and essays, your political ponderings and exhortations, your reflections on life and life experiences.
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Barbara Fallis
11/26/2019 07:39:59 pm
I am a tad late coming to the conversation but agree with the previous comments. I have and will eagerly await the final publication. I still remember the day you and I had lunch, when you were just starting this adventure, how captivated I was about your maternal grandfather. One of your grandfather's wives lived on Freeman Ave in Cincinnati. Every time Vince and I go the symphony we drive on that street and it never fails to remind me of part of his wife's former life. Great work, Sallie. Never give up....what a silly thought as you never give up. Cousin Barbara
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Sallie Showalter
11/27/2019 02:56:07 pm
I just want to thank everyone for your ongoing support. This can be a humbling exercise, and you continue to make it worthwhile. I'm excited to announce that I have a number of "professionals" lined up to provide one more round of comments and reviews on the manuscript. After those edits are complete, I'll be able to indulge in the fun part: the layout and design of the book. It should be an interesting winter!
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