20 Things That Matter More Than the Almighty Book Deal

When you have a voice inside your head that whispers, "You should write a book," and won't shut up until you do what it says, it's hard to believe there is anything more revered, more longed for, more dreamed of, than the Almighty Book Deal.

Almost every writer who makes it to this point is still facing years--YEARS--of waiting. The journey looks different for everyone, but the waiting is universal. In time, you grow weary of worshiping at the alter of the Almighty Book Deal, and become discouraged that the sacrifice of your time, imagination, and sanity may not be enough to appease its voracious appetite.

Take heart, Aspiring Author. Here is a list of 20 things that matter more than the Almighty Book Deal (ABD).

1. Obedience. You were called to write this book, as crazy at it sounds to your family and friends. You obeyed the call when you typed, "Chapter One," and when you followed those words with 70,000 more. Stay obedient to it now.

2. Humility. I'm going to be honest with you. If you recently typed, "The End," and have only read it a second or third time all the way through, it still sucks. Even if your mom told you it was great. The sound of crickets coming from the literary agency isn't a sign that you should give up and close the file forever. It's just a timely dose of humility. Swallow it and get busy fixing what you did wrong in the first draft.

3. Relationship with other writers. You probably started writing, in part, because you're an introvert. Worry not. You don't have to go far to leave your cocoon. For writers, email and social media can be as valuable (sometimes more so) as a cup of coffee and a conversation across a real-life table. Seek out writer friends, unpublished ones for the mutual critique and camaraderie, and published ones for the mountains of knowledge, wisdom, and experience they bring. Don't count anyone out and give back as much as you know how to give.

4. Feedback. Yes, feedback matters more than the ABD. By the time you have the book deal, it's too late to fix the problems your readers will notice. Get as much feedback as possible. Accept it with grace. Even if you don't agree. Even if it makes you angry. Fix the problems and then get some more feedback.

5. Rejection. It stings, I know. Think of it as athletic conditioning. The first workout makes your muscles scream and burn, and you would rather die than go back for more. Go back anyway. The next time it hurts a little less. And the next time you notice you're stronger. Keep going back for more. The goal is to be lean and ripped, and you won't get there until you begin to look forward to the pain, because you understand the benefit of going through it. Let the rejections pile up. Take a little pride in each one, knowing how it has served to strengthen your spine and thicken your skin.

6. Perseverance. This one is no joke. My own engine has sputtered and died on occasion, and for a variety of reasons: a rejection, an illness, a negative critique, a season of busyness that kept my mind far from my stories. It leaves me drifting and listless and disinterested. It's a dangerous place to stay because this is when it seems logical to give up. After all, who would know? It's not like you have an editor beating your door down for the next chapter. But it can also be a time of clarity. When your drive to finish has stalled, and your craving for the ABD is diminished, you can see more clearly why you've been working at this for so long, how far you've come, and how messed up it would be to quit now. Don't quit. Call a friend to give you a jump and get that engine to turn over asap.

7. Time to make it better. There's no substitute for time. Use it well. An artist's work is never really finished anyway. These aren't Bob Ross paintings, a stroke here, and a happy little tree there, and in thirty minutes, you've got a complete masterpiece. Up close those things are a hot mess. Writing is 1% creating, and 99% editing. It's cutting away large chunks, tightening up sloppy dialogue, and cleaning the mess you left in the first draft. So, let the time pass, get busy, and trust me: It. Can. Always. Be. Better.

8. Growth. As a writer, yes, but also as a human being. People who achieve success too easily are stunted. It ruins them. Embrace growth.

9. Time away from the screen. After the ABD you will be a slave to deadlines, edits, social media, marketing, book tours, and blog tours. You're not there yet. So, step away from the screen. It's ok. No one has to know. Go for a walk. Mop the kitchen floor (if that's your thing). Journal about something no one will ever see. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts.

10. Maturity. It took a stint in federal prison for Prison Fellowship founder, Chuck Colson, to realize that nothing is more important than the maturing of the soul. Not wealth, not prosperity, not pleasure. Not even the ABD.

11. Prayer. Almost nothing is better for your prayer life than waiting, wondering, and striving toward something you think God has called you to. He will not grow tired of hearing your musings to him on the subject of the ABD. Write these prayers down and watch them change over time as you grow and mature in all ways.

12. Pleading. Like the deer that pants for the stream, plead with God to take from you this dream, and set your heart on another, if he desires that you do something else with your time and talents. When you find, day after day, that your heart is still tuned to it, plead with him to go with your on your journey, wherever it takes you. Plead with him to delay the ABD, slowing you down if your pride is likely to take you farther than he wants you to go. Plead with him to open doors of his choosing and to close others, and to help you in the fight to stay humble and obedient through every small victory.

13. Small victories. Celebrate every positive critique, every tough chapter you labor through to the end, and especially those long awaited words: "The End." Take note of the little gifts of divine inspiration that serve to reveal things in your writing you didn't see before. Let it encourage you to keep going, and fill you with hope that this labor is not all for nothing.

14. Acceptance. Another rejection, another contest lost, another year passed with nothing tangible to show for it. You're no closer than you were this time last year. The answer from God is, "Not yet." Accept it. Move on. There's no point arguing with him about the timing.

15. Contentment. Make your peace with what you've been forced to accept. This is how far as he's brought you, and this is where you'll stay for a little while longer. "Godliness with contentment is great gain." 1 Timothy 6:6

16. Self-sacrifice. It's so hard to pour so much of yourself into something no one else seems to care about. So many hours lost to dreaming, typing, staring out the window, perfecting a character's expression. The creative mind is a burden, churning constantly, leaving you in a fog while you perform daily responsibilities. It isn't normal to space off at Thanksgiving dinner, creating dialogue based on the bickering of your relatives, or to fantasize about visiting historical/exotic locales all by yourself. It's a lonely and secretive life. There's a cost to it. Give of yourself for something that will be much larger than you.

17. Introspection. Sometimes it feels like a punch in the throat to have to ask yourself, "Why am I even doing this?" after years of what feels an awful lot like wasted effort. But sometimes it's good to go back to the beginning, to remember why you started, to follow the thread of this thing you've been pursuing, and to look down and see your fist still firmly clenched around that thread.

18. God's presence. It's worth more than holding your work in your hands, seeing your name on the spine, more than royalties, more than winning a contest, or landing an agent, or the ABD. It just is.

19. God's sovereignty. Despite the Disney Channel's message that "if you work hard, your dreams will come true," it may not be God's will for you, or for me, to get the ABD. That has to be ok. No amount of waiting, or editing, or pleading for it will change God's already made up mind. How can you or I do anything but fall down before this holy, majestic, omnipotent God, who is so gracious to make our little lives matter?

20. God's glory. If I am focused solely on going after my own glory (which, let's face it, is what the ABD really is), I will not have eyes to see God's handiwork. Don't misunderstand. It is possible to balance excellence and ambition with godly humility. You can stay humble without staying hidden. Your talent can be valued and even celebrated without vainglorious self-promotion. You can strive toward excellence without being proud. You can work to hone and improve your skill without being self-obssessed. You do have to step back from yourself, your creation, your desires, your effort, your fear, your insecurity. Let your journey be interrupted. Let it go on longer than you expected. Let it sanctify you and glorify him. Let him worry about the ABD.

Lament of the Christian Artist

Overwhelmed today with the question--AGAIN--of what God has promised me. I'm studying the story of Balaam and his donkey, which I did not want to study this week. I put it off again and again. I even wrinkled my nose at it when I saw it sitting by my computer, and checked facebook instead. I finished it without putting forth too much effort and went to bible study not really understanding it, not sure what God was saying to Israel, or to me, with the exception of his steadfast promise: Blessed are you, my people; I am sovereign over every single thing. There was, I admit, a bit of a *yawn* response from me. It's the same word from God week after week, chapter after chapter.

But as I listened to my friends answer the same questions with such profound insight, I sat up a little straighter and reread some of those prophecies from Numbers

"The God who can predict outcomes is the God who is the author of history," my teaching leader said.

I believe this about my God. With all my heart, I believe this. But the old, persistent question came to me, like a dilapidated neon sign that blinks and splutters but never quite goes out.

What did you promise me? Am I to understand your words in light of eternal victory? Or in light of my small life, which only has purpose because you give me a job to fulfill? Do you promise to use me as a writer of stories that are worthy to be read? Do you promise that I will become a published author? Is that your promise to me?

When I got to the car with these questions in my mind, I groaned and asked God if he was tired of hearing me ask because, frankly, I was tired of asking. "If this is not your promise to me," I prayed, tearing up as I drove down Abercorn, "take from me this dream and set my heart on another task, another mission, another way I can be used." I am willing to do that. I trust him for that.

But if it is his promise...if it is his promise, I will strive toward that for a decade more. Two decades. A lifetime. But I cannot spend a lifetime chasing a fool's errand. I must know if my prayers are the prayers of a self-aggrandizing bag of hot air, or a (semi) talented writer who really may one day achieve publication.

It struck me on the drive home: what if I'm not the faithful donkey, with his eyes to see the Lord's angel, but I am really Balaam, who is so single-minded, so determined to go his own way that he will beat the gentle faithful one into submission? How do I know I am not a diviner, trying to create the path I want, and blind to the path God has actually set me on? How do I know the set backs and discouragements aren't the voice of the donkey, who sees more clearly than I, that God himself is blocking the way?

"The story of Balaam abounds in comic irony," my commentary says, and I suppose if I were a Jew, a recipient of the promise, on the other side of victory with Moab, I would see the humor in it. Though the promised Redeemer has come, and God's completed Word sits open in my lap, I don't know who I am in this story.

Have I kicked someone under me? Neglected them? Despised them for interrupting my course, for keeping me from my writing desk, and my pursuit of my own glory?

I want to say that I am not Balaam. Balaam sold his soul for riches from Moab and died by the sword because of it. Balaam was willing to take a bribe. Balaam exacted revenge through wicked means when he didn't get his way.

God knows my heart. He knows it beats for him. He doesn't really need me to tell him how desperate I am for a word from him, a hint of a promise, a glimmer that I have heretofore missed because I blinked.

In asking God for an answer, I am taking a risk. I did my best, most prolific writing when I was not concerned with agents and contests and contracts. For so long I have successfully pushed aside the fear that it would be wasted, that no one would ever read it. I have convinced myself to write something down, anything, even if it's terrible, knowing that I can go back and fix it later. It has been enough to keep my fingers on the keyboard through 4 1/2 manuscripts. All without knowing for certain if this was even God's plan for my life. Without the assurance that this is his promise to me.

I stubbornly hope despite the odds.

I look at books from the library sitting on my bedside table. I see their paper, their ink, their cardboard spine, covered in that awful plastic film. I see the cover art and the dedication and I think, "This is impossible." I'm just a housewife. A nobody. Every author was at one time, I suppose. Every author wrote a terrible first draft and stuck with it until it got better...and then the clouds parted, and the heavenly chorus sounded from above, and God set them on their path to the promised book deal.

I realize now that I am still on the pendulum that swings wildly from total narcissism to crushing self-doubt, only now it has become unhinged and swings in a new direction that is a combination of both. Narcissism and doubt.

I'm sick of thinking about it. I'm sick of thinking about myself.

I won't quit. It's not a question of my quitting. It's a habit now, to turn my brain to story mode in the car, or the shower, or on a walk, or lying in bed. There is a drive to finish that will keep me at the computer every available minute of the day, even if the answer is no.

Until I am sure the answer is no.

The things that have gotten me to this point, the ways God has worked things out for me, kept me encouraged, spared my crooked little flash drive, protected my time and my health, put inspiring things in front of me, kept my computer from crashing, built me up, torn me town, taken my hand as I rebuilt again, shown me things that made my work better, given me a husband who allows me to indulge in what I have always tried to pass off as a glorified hobby, plucked me out of my old life and set me down in one of calm, and peace, and ease, so that I have an over-abundance of time to develop my craft, which I have grown to love so much--I have not imagined these things. They are not the outworking of my over-confidence, or my ambition, or my own feeble attempts.

Can I say that being a writer--an actual, legitimate, recognized, (dare I say it?) published author--is his promise to me? A promise that I should fight and claw and scratch and sweat to obtain?

God has brought me to this point and until he tells me, "No," I am powerless to stop trying.

The Prayer of a Christian Writer

You know how hard I've worked. You've been there, all those dark, lonely hours while I pinged away at a keyboard. You helped me tell the story, sustained me with time, a computer that didn't crash, a crooked little flashdrive that has never been lost. You watched me type the first word and the last word, and You knew when I changed the first word through 16 revisions.

You know how my ego has swelled with every compliment and You know how hard I have fought the battle against pride. You've seen me struggle to make myself less when my heart cries out for recognition, admiration, and fawning praise. You know how I yearn for that "someone" to notice me and make my dreams of success come true.

Don't give it to me. The same way You denied Moses when he asked to see Your face in Exodus 33:18, because You knew it would be too much for him.

If You don't go with me on the difficult road to publication, don't send me. Don't let my ears be tickled with compliments that will skew my view of myself. Don't let me hear encouragement that will push me farther than You want me to go. Don't let others whisper empty promises that deliver false hope.

Just go with me. That's what I ask. You and me. Knowing You are there and You are pleased is worth more to me than a contract, more than the pleasure of seeing my words in print.

To be published, respected, and influential--those are good things and You will guide me toward that in Your time, in Your way. I am not like the others. There are talented aspiring writers in the great big world who don't know You. They clamber for attention and due praise, and buy followers, and fight for room on a tiny stage. But I do not cross my fingers for luck when I query. I do not receive rejection bitterly. I do not blame. I do not pout. I do not lose hope as long as You are with me.

Your ways are different and your presence separates me from the pack.

Your presence is all I truly want. More than success, more than royalties, more even than sincere praise. Because those things don't guide my steps. Those things don't linger. Those things don't care about the souls of my potential audience.

So, with humility, I ask for Your presence so that Your presence will supply the boldness I need to move forward in this pursuit.

The Author's Life In the Digital Age: Is This the End or Just the Beginning?

There was once a time when starving artists were literally starving.  There was no money to be made in the arts and there was very little exposure but creators created anyway because there was something beautiful or honest or thoughtful in them that needed to come out.  If the king liked your work, you were lucky enough to perform/paint/write for an audience.  If he didn't, you created in obscurity.

As society progressed, performers began collecting wages and gaining notoriety.  There was even the possibility for a young person to dream of one day being an artist.  One of my favorite stories to read my kids is I Dreamed I Was a Ballerina by Anna Pavlova, a famous Russian ballerina who was born in poverty in St. Petersburg in 1881, who saw her first ballet as a child.

A generation later, Hollywood began making actors famous and it only took one more generation for artists to achieve godlike celebrity and wealth.

The progress was similar for writers.  Many of the great works we study and admire today were written by people who died in poverty but thank God they wrote anyway.  I often wonder how many brilliant minds went untapped and unnoticed because it was virtually impossible be noticed back then.  Writers from the beginning of the 20th century until now have enjoyed unprecedented pay, recognition, fame, and copyright privileges and I'm glad they have.  They deserve every bit of it.  What a wonderful age we live in when art is appreciated and the creators of it are revered and paid for their work!

This article on The Guardian - From Best Seller to Bust: Is This the End of the Author's Life? reveals a serious lack of perspective.  They are scared of the future, of making a living in the digital age.  I can understand that.  Their way of life is in the process of being turned on its head.

But as an aspiring author myself, one who has never made a dime on anything I've written, I really don't care about the fear of the giant publishing houses after the credit crisis of 07.  I don't need the king to approve of my work and offer me a 6-figure deal.  If I can scrounge together a few people who enjoy  my work and anticipate when the next book/blog is coming, I will be thrilled and feel as if all the time, all the self-doubt, all the toil, will be worth it.

After all, as a writer who happens to also be a Christian, I am nothing.  I am a worm that crawls the ground.  All of my words, all of my thoughts, no matter how well I string them together, are filthy rags.  They are my offering to Him, who created that which I can only try (and fail) to accurately describe in my own art.  If someone wants to pay me for them, well I guess that's a bonus but I will not look at the plight of the publishing industry in the digital age with fear.  I will consider it a gift that a lowly, obscure worm like me can put my words out in the great big world even though Penguin, Random House, Tyndale, and all the rest have never heard my name.

No time to blog! Too busy writing!!!

I know all my adoring fans are just dying to know how the old novel is coming along....wait, er, well, one person asked.  Soooo, I'm just going to treat you all to a little summary of my progress so far.

Before I tell you anything else, I have to say that this has been a strange and wonderful mixture of completely terrifying and supremely pleasurable.  I once read that a writer should force him/herself to write at least a little bit every single day, "come hell or high water."  Even on the holidays.  No days off.  Thou shalt not rest on Sundays.  Sounded like a chore when I read that.  But when I really got going on my own story, I found that I couldn't bear to let a day go by that I wasn't adding to it.  I think it's probably safe to say that I've had my computer on and click-clacked away at it every day since November 6.  Even Thanksgiving when I packed my computer and hauled it down to Mom's.  I'm not joking.

In the roughly six weeks that have passed I have written approximately 60,000 words and 18 chapters in what will probably be about a 24 chapter book.  How have I found the time you ask?  What with my three young children, my work at church, occassional babysitting, and my house to take care of (I even threw in a little girl's slumber party during that time!)? 

For one thing I haven't watched a television show in its entirety since I began writing.  Not even Bill O'Reilly.  If you know me, you know that he has such a presence in our house that we refer to him as Uncle Bill (not to be confused with my real Uncle Bill).  But he comes on in one of those precious hours when the girls are in bed and I can WRITE!  So no Bill for me. 

Second, there is no idle brain time.  That means, if I can't write, I'm thinking on purpose about my story.  I have a notebook that is bursting with sticky notes, grocery lists that I have dug out of my purse, junk mail envelopes that I have written on, etc.  No matter where I am or what I'm doing, I'm thinking about my story and when something pops into my head, I jot it down and tuck it away for later.  If I'm home but not able to write, I'm reading a book about writing.  Or reading another work of fiction so that I can study what the author does that I like or don't like.

And if I can't do that?  Well, there are simply some hours of the day when I need to be wife and mom. I block off sections of my morning and evening when cooking or babysitting combines with laundry and dusting.  Amazingly, hubby has only run out of clean underwear once in the last 6 weeks.

Also amazingly, he has not written me off as a total nut job for spending hours with my mini HP on something that may just prove to be a fruitless endeavor.  I think he's secretly hoping that it's good enough that a publisher will want to buy it.

Is it good enough?  Um, I'm not sure.  Truthfully, I'm not sure.  It's kind of in the style of a Deanne Gist, although written more for the young reader.  It's not as good as, say, a Francine Rivers.  But it's waaaay better than a Karen Kingsbury.  But that's just my opinion.  I read "The Help" while I was in the midst of writing and practically despaired because I knew it was light years ahead of my skill level.  But I'm not giving up because that's just not what I do.  I actually used that experience to make my story better.  I added a scene that provided conflict and developed an antagonist from the beginning that now makes appearances throughout the story because I so enjoyed the tension between Miss Skeeter and her nemisis, Hilly Hollbrook.

My story is one of those classic romances where girl meets guy, girl falls for guy, and then, uh-oh, something happens that pulls them apart...will they get together in the end?  It's got all the good stuff too,  ya know, hearts pounding, lips meeting.  But it doesn't go too far.  As Drew Barrymore says in "The Wedding Singer," it's church-tongue!  ;)

There is guilt, love, danger, fist-fighting, self-doubt, being negatively influenced by a shallow friend, a longing to hear God's voice, grace, forgiveness, misunderstanding, loss, and realizing one's calling in life.  Who hasn't experienced those things?  Better yet, who doesn't want to experience those things vicariously through a herione that you are rooting for?  But maybe that's just me.  I love a good story.

But it's also one of those "inspiriational" types where God is practically a main character.  So if you're not into spiritual things, there will probably be lots of eye-rolling.  I just can't spend all this time on a story if the character doesn't figure life out without looking through the lense of scripture.  It's how I make sense of the world.  I teach a room full of kids every single week how to make sense of the world by looking at scripture.  So naturally, a character that comes right out of my imagination would too.

That's all for now.  I've just thought of something I want to change in the last little bit of dialogue I wrote.  Ah, dialogue.  I could write an entire blog just on what I've learned about dialogue!  It's not what you might think! 

So, until I get another few minutes when I'm not writing, working, reading, cooking, teaching, or caring for the chillin's, wish  me luck!  Say a prayer!  I'll keep you posted.