Stuff Only God Knows
I hate that my face flushes at inopportune times. Like during a Q & A after I’d spoken about Let Me Fall, and was asked how many books I’d sold. My hot-faced answer was, “I don’t know, but not enough.” Not enough to draw the attention of any sort of traditional publishing house. Not enough to earn a small living off of. Not even enough to be a respectable number after nine plus months. Not enough … period.
Which inevitably leads to my question. “God, why?”
Don’t get me wrong. For as many lows as I experienced during the writing of Let Me Fall, there were twice as many highs. I would even go so far as to say those three years were mountain top years. And I’m not just saying that because the setting of the book was on a mountain.
Since arriving in my figurative valley, I’ve been a bit bummed. Why did I waste three years of my life writing the thing? I’d be lying if I denied ever feeling the sentiment. Three years may be nothing to God, but it’s a heck of a long time for me. And monetarily speaking, I don’t even have much to show for it, considering I’ve had to re-enter the full-time work force (though at least I have a great job and love the people I work with).
I still feel like a failure.
Worst of all: My life is crazy busy. I barely have time to shave my legs or add Cool Whip to my to-go Chai Latte. Life is tedious and stressful. More times than not, I find myself gazing back longingly at the mountain where I truly experienced God. And it makes me sad. Rationally speaking, I’m certain I’ll spend the rest of my life getting to know Him. I just can’t help feeling a lack of purpose. Like … now that Let Me Fall has been birthed God is sorta done with me. (Postpartum depression–author style.)
I started thinking though. Who lives on a mountain?
Mountain goats and chinchillas, that’s who. Tibetan monks. But the vast majority of billies and humans live in valleys. It’s where life happens.
It’s where my life is happening.
And with the same certainty that accompanied my April-Fool’s-Day-2009-God-revelation (to write about falling in love with Him), comes the same certainty He’s not done with me as His typist of choice. Meaning: there’s more for me to write. I’ll just be doing it from a lower elevation.
Will the sequel to Let Me Fall take three more years to write? No. It will probably take longer. Will it be the same raging success (sarcasm inferred)? I really don’t care. It’s dawning on me that the valley is not so bad. I’m a woodsy-creek-kind-of-girl anyway. And the view from down here … Yeah, it’s different.
But I think it’s beautiful.