Yippee

I got a job! Praise the Lord. It is a part-time job as the ESE Job Coach for the school board. I don't know when I start, etc. I just got the call on Friday afternoon offering it to me, but I am really, really excited.

I continue my search for an agent, but I am feeling much more patient. It was probably just the job search and the agent search combined that made me really crazy the last few months.

Now, I am feeling more able to pull myself back from the agent search. It will happen when it happens. I will keep working on my next book.

I also have a book to edit for Authors Ink. I have been editing, but need to get back in the swing of things with it. I also have a book I'm reading as a beta-reader that I need to finish.

All in all, the past two days have been a vast improvement over the last two months.

Optimistic Rambling

In my ongoing efforts to find an agent, hone my craft, and remain optimistic, I research the agents I've queried. I read their blogs, interviews they've given, etc., trying to get a feel for them, so to speak. I also visit several websites for writers in which there are updates on how to query certain agents, their average response times, etc. Visiting writers' sites can be an informative experience, and it is good to know I'm not the only person going through "the wait" and "the silence", but it can also be somewhat depressing. Learning about the agents through their websites, blogs, etc., however, has been a very, very positive experience.

A common thread throughout websites for writers is the near impossibility of finding an agent, a publisher, or ever making any headway in a writing career. The number one reason most of them cite is that agents and publishers are simply looking for any reason at all to throw a query in the trash can and move on to the next one. Even before I began researching agents, I thought this was probably not the case. After all, if they are actually looking for reasons to refuse you --to the point of whether you sign off using "sincerely" or "regards" or whether you should or shouldn't mention sending a full or partial or various other things we writers worry ourselves to death over -- why would they continue to take submissions? Why would they be in this business at all for that matter?

What I've found in researching them, is that agents are much more like me than many writers. They LOVE books and reading! They want to pick up a query or sample pages and fall madly in love with the idea. They want to find that manuscript that keeps them up at night or at least keeps them reading during the day. When they sit down to do their slushpile reading, they are looking for the exact same thing I'm looking for every time I walk into a bookstore or browse the book section of Walmart! A good book.

This realization is exciting to me. It is energizing and fills me with hope.

Writing is so subjective. There are bestselling authors whose books I simply cannot read. Does that mean they aren't good? No, of course not. It means they aren't good to me. The same is true for agents.

I'm only getting form rejections at the moment, so I'm just going to go with the thought that the book wasn't right for them, but it might be right for someone else. If I begin to get the same feedback from several agents, I will definitely think it is time to rework something in my book.

I am very excited about the future, and I fully intend to remain that way. Eventually, an agent will pick up my manuscript and not want to put it down. That is the agent I want -- a fellow booklover who loves my book :)

Wow, I am really not very good at this blogging stuff. I think about it approximately once a week and actually do it once a month or once every six months. I really don't think I have much to say, especially about myself. Does anyone cruising the internet really care how things are going in my part of the world? Probably not.

By this time, about half of my queries have ended in rejection. I queried a few more agents. I have one full and one partial out, and I spend inordinate amounts of time checking my email and wondering why no one is answering. About the time the silence gets to me, I get a rejection, so then I'm left wondering which is worse. I went through yesterday and marked some of my queries rejected as no response on my list just because I needed to weed it out. If good things are still to come from any of those agents, it doesn't take much to erase the big "x" over their names.

If you've read my previous posts, you know that last year I found a job I absolutely loved, but it was only on a substitute basis. This year, they hired someone to fill that spot. Someone who wasn't me. I'm glad for the woman who got it, she needs a job as much as I do, and she loves it there as much as I do. So far there hasn't been much of a call for me to substitute, but I have an interview on Thursday for another position. This is the fourth or fifth interview I've been on in the last month and I have to say I really do need a job.

Between the rejections and silences in the employment and publishing field, I have been feeling a bit down in the dumps lately. Still, I am hoping for the best. Eventually, it will all come together just as the Lord has planned and I will be employed and published again and will forget about this icky few months when I couldn't help but wonder what in the world is wrong with me.

I forced myself to go to bed on Sunday night with a better frame of mind, and I forced myself to start the week off on a better note. I am not going to whine about not having a job, I am going to wake every morning fully expecting good things. Believe me, I love staying home. I've never not loved being at home instead of work, but the money situation bothers me. We do have bills to pay, after all. So, I am just going to say if I am to remain unemployed, God will make a way for the bills to be paid, and if I'm going to work, then He will make a way for me to have a job.

I am believing, believing, believing He is going to open the doors for me and my writing. I am believing, believing, believing that He works everything out in His perfect time and His perfect way.

So, I'll just wait, and I'll try to cut down on my whining, worrying, and wondering why no one likes me. :)

Actually someone does like me -- my grandson who just turned a year old, thinks I'm the greatest thing ever (next to his mom, dad, papa, dogs and that Elmo birthday cake.)

It has been a pretty productive summer as far as my writing goes.

I revised Sweet Sacrifices yet again, and began sending it out to agents. I queried 35 over the course of the summer. At the moment, I've received three requests for partials and 7 rejections. I know this is quite typical, and the encouraging thing we writers tell ourselves is that it only takes one "yes". Still, it is disheartening to receive those rejections. There are quite a few agents who say if you get no response they aren't interested, so I'm sure there are at least a few rejections I just haven't decided are rejections yet. I'm just hoping and praying that somewhere in that number is at least one who will read and love the whole book.

Meanwhile, instead of driving myself completely batty checking my email for rejections/requests every few minutes, I am working on my new book, When the Music Died.


The craziest thing happened...About four or five years ago, I was over half way through a book I had titled Happy Endings and another book, Yesterday's Dreams, when my computer crashed. I lost everything and have spent the last few years just trying to get them back to where they were. I had some earlier parts, several pages here and there, of both, and I knew where they were when I lost them, but I never could quite get them back there. One day a few weeks ago, I was going through some old floppy disks which I haven't used in years and I decided to pop them in my daughter's computer (mine doesn't even have a floppy drive). So, I popped one in and there they were -- both the books I lost!

By the end of that weekend, Happy Endings was finished and retitled Breaking Love. It is much different than my other books. No mystery, no suspense. It is written in first person and I enjoyed writing it immensely. There is still work to be done on it, I know. At the moment, it is just sitting still, waiting for me to read it with a clearer eye.

I haven't worked on Yesterday's Dreams yet, because I was in the middle of so much other stuff, but I will soon.

I hope to have When the Music Died completely finished by the end of September. I'll have to work on a synopsis soon...I hate those. Condensing a whole novel into a few paragraphs is not an easy task, but I am actually looking forward to it. This will be the first completely new book in a while (it was conceived and written this year) and I can't wait to share it.

My Soapbox

I am beginning to wonder what is wrong with people. Well, I'm not truly beginning to wonder, I've been wondering for quite some time exactly what is wrong with people. This past week, however, as I've watched the news, the idea that something is dreadfully wrong in this country and this world has stopped being just a "wonderment" and has been driven home and cemented as fact in my mind.

It started with Governor Sanford of South Carolina's confession that he has had an affair. Of course, as always, a bunch of people came out and cried foul, or more foul to be exact, because he is a Christian man, a leader in the GOP which runs on moral values, etc. While I understand that if we confess to be Christians, we must try our best not to fall, we still do fall occasionally. I wish I could say that as soon as you accept Jesus as your personal saviour, you will become exactly like Him, sinless and perfect, but it just doesn't happen. Forgiveness would mean nothing at all if there was nothing to forgive, after all. So, as a Christian, I hoped his family would be able to work things out. After all, all marriages have bad times and even Christian marriages often come to points where tough decisions need to be made. In my opinion, what should have happened at that point is that he should have focused on doing the right thing by his family, his state which elected him, and his faith. This means he needed to lock himself away and get to work on all three. However, like has become so common in our society, he has decided to purge himself in front of the nation. So yesterday we learned that he has "crossed the line" with other women. He hasn't had sex with them, just "crossed the line". Okay. So? That is neither here nor there. It doesn't or shouldn't matter to anyone except his wife. Some things are really not anyone's business.

It seems we've crossed a line, a major line, I might add, in what to confess to whom. The national news is not your friend, it is not your confidante. It is an entity who cares nothing about you or your family or your faith. So quit treating news conferences like confessionals.

Looking back, I think my wonder didn't begin cementing itself with Governor Sanford, but with Jon and Kate Gosselin. I admit I have watched the show occasionally over the years, and I watched it last week when they made their big announcement. I watched it as the hopeless optimist my husband accuses me of being. I truly thought they might come out and say they were kicking the cameras out of their home and working on saving their marriage. But, of course, I was disappointed, because instead of working to save their marriage, they're going to allow us to continue to watch the disintegration of their family. Yippee.

Yes, that definitely cemented my belief that something is wrong with people. I mean, I've always though rubbernecking was part of human nature. We all look when we pass the scene of an accident, but we don't all stop, get out of our cars and stand around watching up close and personal as the bodies are covered and the injured taken away in ambulances. So why are we so willing to do it through our television screen?

So, like most people did, I vowed not to watch that particular train wreck anymore, and I went about my business.

Then, at the end of last week, Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson died. Now, as a girl born in 1968, both of these stars played prominently in my childhood and teenage years. I wasn't a huge Michael Jackson fan, but I know he was a star. I also think he was nuts, but that is not the point of this rambling commentary. The point is they were both stars and we all knew who they were. We all remember Charlie's Angels and Farrah hair. We all remember Thriller and the moonwalk. We remember their lives, of course, but how much do we really need to know about their deaths?

Farrah Fawcett's death for the most part has been overshadowed by Michael Jackson's. I assume her family is glad to be pretty much left alone in their grief . Michael Jackson's death, however, is still a huge part of every newscast. We know about his drugs, his will, the 911 call, the condition of his body, etc., etc. It's far, far too much information. Someone needs to put a halt to it. My thought is that only family can put a halt to it, but apparently they like it this way.

Over the weekend, Billy Mays, the sales guy for Mighty Putty and various other "As Seen on TV" items died. I was absolutely horrified to hear his poor wife's call to 911 on the news.

A 911 call and the moments leading up to it are some of the most traumatic moments in your life. They are a a glimpse into a person's private hell and I truly believe our penchant for playing them on the news is a sign that we are in serious trouble.

We have got to stop this runaway fascination with other people's suffering. We have got to stop our society's hunger for every last detail. We've got to stop the news from not only fulfilling that hunger but force feeding the details until we are gorged.

Serious news is being brushed aside so we can watch people's personal lives fall apart, so we can get glimpses into moments that should be private. In the past week, Iran has killed its own citizens, North Korea has threatened to bomb Hawaii and our own government is trying to pass legislation that will tax us into oblivion. Yet, all of this is overshadowed by Governor Sanford's affair, Jon and Kate's divorce, and Michael Jackson's death. I am not trying to trivialize any of those things. All of those events are important to someone, each of them have children and other family members and friends who are affected personally and privately by the events. But none of them truly affect most of us in the long run. Not one single on of them will matter in the grand scheme of most our lives.

As a whole, our society needs to get back on track. We need to realize what is and isn't important; what is and isn't private; and what is and isn't too much information to share with the nation.

Okay, I'm stepping off my soapbox now.

I went to sleep last night thinking of home. My last remembered thought before falling asleep is thanking God that he allowed me to grow up and raise my own children there. I love living in Jasper, but sometimes I miss home. Home for me is not the big city of Jacksonville, but a little corner of Jacksonville called Spring Hammock, an oak hammock on a creek where my dad's family lived for generations.

My dad is a commercial fisherman, a shrimper. When I was young, most of the men in our family fished or shrimped or crabbed for a living. They all tied their boats up at what we called "the landing". On the landing was a big oak tree with roots jutting out from the earth. Those roots formed perfect seats and we kids would sit (or climb) there as our parents picked shrimp. Fiddler crabs were everywhere and they and the fish our parents culled from the shrimp were interesting enough to occupy us for a while. Back then, the landing was a happening place, but over the years many of those fishermen gave up fishing. Laws have been passed in the last decade or so that have almost destroyed the way of life for commercial fishermen in Florida. It's been sad watching fishermen become a dying breed when they were once such a vibrant part of life on the Florida coasts.

The landing is testament to that slow death. Where once a dozen boats were tied up, feeding a dozen families with the money earned in the connected creeks, now there are none. My dad ties his boat up at his house now and the landing is empty.

Spring Hammock was a glorious place to grow up. We swam in the creek beside our house without a fear. We girls were sure our daddy, who we were convinced taught Tarzan everything he knew, was brave and strong enough to keep any alligators or other dangers at bay.

My middle sister and I grew up with cousins surrounding us. We never lacked for playmates as kids. Daddy built us a playhouse in the backyard and there we spent hours and hours with our cousins, playing house, forming clubs, and whispering secrets. There were tire swings and trails through the woods and all sorts of amazing things to keep us occupied. And dozens of adults to keep us in line.

At dusk, parents would either yell for their kids or walk around the neighborhood gathering them up. If they walked over to get them, we could count on a bit longer to play because our moms would stand there talking.

During the summer, the mosquito control would come through the hammock at dusk and if we happened to all still be outside, we'd chase right behind him. A dozen kids laughing and breathing in that big cloud of insecticide. That's not something you'll be seeing today. The trucks don't spray out that kind of cloud anyway, so it wouldn't be as fun.

When we were small, we'd load up a wagon full of odds and ends our parents didn't want anymore, or sometimes art work we'd made ourselves, and pull it through the neighborhood, trying to sell them. I remember as we got older trying to write a neighborhood newspaper and sell it to people. Of course, we all lived so close and were in such close contact, it wasn't as if there were many secrets to sell anyway, but we thought it was so cool to "spy" on people and write down what we witnessed.

Once, I saw Big Foot in Spring Hammock. We were playing follow the leader and I was the leader. We went down a trail in front of our house and there he was. Big and orange and hairy. I turned around and ran and everyone followed, but no one else saw him. We spent the rest of the summer tracking him, but we didn't find many clues at all.

We also all got caught smoking on one of those trails. I think I was eight. Wow! That is a day I will never forget. Soap in the mouth and switches. I can still remember sitting at the landing, on the roots of that tree, tasting soap in my mouth, and I still remember those switches on my backside. But I'm not a smoker and neither is my sister. I confess we've both tried it again, but it didn't stick with either of us. Maybe soap and switches is a better deterrent against addiction than one would think.

I had the most beautiful childhood ever because I had the most wonderful parents, but the setting couldn't have been better.

The sounds of insects and birds, the gentle hum of the box fans in our open windows, the sounds of men yelling to each other, the sounds of kids playing and mom's talking, my mom reading to us, and the call of the whippoorwill. These are the sounds of my childhood.

The smell of mom's perfume, baby powder, chicken frying, dirt, saltwater, mud at low tide, shrimp, fish, and clean air. These are the smells of my childhood.

When I had my own kids, I couldn't think of a better place to raise them. A few months after we got married, Jason and I moved next to his parents a couple miles away, but after our youngest child was born, we sold our place there and bought a place in Spring Hammock. It was amazing to watch my own children grow up with the same freedom and lack of fear that we'd known growing up. My sister and our cousins had all grown up and stayed right there, having their own families. So playmates were never in short supply.

My daughter had a playhouse in the backyard just as we did, and I'm certain the same sort of childhood drama played out there as it did in our own playhouse. They crabbed and fished, mud bogged and swam, and carried on for the most part as we had decades ago.

Of course, everything wasn't perfect in Spring Hammock, but everything isn't perfect anywhere. Drugs are everywhere, sin is everywhere, temptation is everywhere. Generations pass away, our children grow up, and life changes.

But for those days of childhood, life should be simple and innocent. Somehow for the most part, in Spring Hammock we were always able to keep that balance where the kids could be kids regardless of the problems around them.

God truly blessed me when he allowed me to be born into the family I was born into, with all the people who have populated my life and the beautiful setting where my life took place.

Here I am again. How about that? It's 12:28 a.m., so I guess it's now officially May 2009. I can't believe the school year is almost over. Jason moved out here to Jasper last May and I followed after the baby was born in July. It has been a wonderful and miraculous year. When we moved out here two years ago, I guess we just weren't quite ready to accept that this is where God wanted us, so we moved back to Jax in July 2007. I have to tell you that was one of the most miserable years ever. When God wants you to move in one direction or the other, I don't think he leaves much doubt in your mind. You may try to create your own doubt, but God gives much clearer answers than we are willing to accept sometimes. When we decided to buy this house and move back to Jasper, both of us knew it was for good.

Anyway, I was really contemplating my job when I began writing this entry. When we moved to Jasper last summer, I put in an application to be a substitute teacher. I didn't want to sub at the high school, and Curtis certainly didn't want me to, but I put all three elementary schools in Hamilton County and the ESE school where my mother-in-law subs. I was very very unsure about that school though. The first few times they called me, it was to work in the regular voluntary pre-k classes, which I thoroughly enjoyed. But then they called me to work in the ESE class. I was so nervous, not knowing what to expect and if I would be able to do it. For the most part, these kids are profoundly handicapped and can't go to regular schools, etc..

I never dreamed that from the moment I walked into that classroom I would never want to leave. Wilma (my mother-in-law) did try to tell me, but I thought it was just her. I didn't think I would love the kids and the job so much.

The pay isn't great as a sub, but I am hoping eventually maybe they'll need me in a permanent position. I have been able to sub every day since I started so that has been great. I can't remember when the last time was that I felt so useful and had a job that was so rewarding.

Money is necessary, yes, but what is equally necessary is being able to get up in the morning and face the day with peace and contentment, and to go to bed at night with that same feeling. I learned years ago that those feelings are blessings that should not be taken for granted.

My husband and I have come through some very very rough patches. During the last decade, there were days when I wanted to throw in the towel and walk away, but God was there, saying "No. You stay and you wait. I will restore him (my husband) and I will renew you." And He did. When I thought I couldn't go on any longer. When despair had me on my floor in tears, vowing that I couldn't go one more day without God's intervention (it's the only intervention that really works) and telling God to please forgive me, but I couldn't do what He was telling me to do, He stepped in and He began the work He had promised me He would do. I have witnessed miracles this year...every day of this year has been a miracle. When my husband comes straight home from work every night and works in the garden or plants lilies or watches the news or does a million other little things I thought I'd never see him do again, it is a miracle. When I see him participating in life and enjoying life again, it is a miracle. When I see peace and happiness on his face, it is a miracle. When I see him lying in bed reading the Bible, it is a miracle. When he says he knows he's saved, it is a miracle!

When our little paychecks give us bill money for another month and our groceries last until the next pay day, it is a miracle.

When I go to a job that I thought I wouldn't like, and I am glad to be there, it is a miracle.

When I feel hope about the future and know I'm finally whole again in my mind and heart, it is a miracle.

These things were lost to us for so long, it is good to see the bright light of God's work. It is good to give credit to our blessed Lord for the work He has done in our lives and the things He has renewed and restored.

His goodness never ceases.