I'm Too Proud

I had an out of body experience yesterday. It was one of those half hours that seriously could have been a scene from a movie. I was at Deseret Book in SF picking up some helps for my son's talk on Sunday. While looking for some new reading material for him, a woman noticed me looking at a new little chapter book series. She asked how old my reader was and then went on to say her daughter had written these books and happened to be in the store doing a signing. I flipped the book over and found the Shadow Mountain publishing logo.

This cute mother then goes off about what a great exciting experience this whole "publishing thing" has been for them. Her daughter is seventeen. That's right: one-seven. "She had this cute little idea about ..... and then we wrote one of those cover letter thingies"

"A query." I say with no infliction in my voice.

"Yeah, I think that's what they're called. Anyway, they put her under contract to write ten of these things. Can you believe it! Ten."

"Wow." It's all I can say.

As if this wasn't enough, she goes on to ask how I know Chris Schoebinger (the acquisitions editor from SM) and learns that I too am a writer striving to get published. I mentioned my writing group and the woman says. "Oh, well I'm sure my daughter would be willing to come and speak. Although, this is her first attempt at writing a story, and she doesn't know much about the industry yet."

Of course I was kind. Of course I didn't say the million evil things racing through my proud heart. I bought the book, had the senior in high school sign the copy, and left the store. I took one step off the curb and an SUV came racing around the corner and splashed a GIGANTIC puddle of water all over my freshly cleaned white shirt. As writers, we are sometimes prone to exaggeration, but I promise you I'm being completely honest. I threw up my hands and yelled from the top of my lungs, "Really? Really?!"

Needless to say, it was a low moment for me. Later I felt embarrassed by my behavior. Sometimes it hard to watch your dreams fall in the lap of someone else--especially when that someone hasn't put in the time and effort you feel you have. I walked in the door, turned on the TV, and watched the benefit for Haiti program on CNN. It only took about a minute for me to feel guilty for my ridiculous tantrum. I'm blessed in so many ways. I love writing for the sake of writing. If no one buys my story, I'll still have clothes on my back (so what if they're soaked and muddy) and a roof over my head. I'll have the knowledge that my family is safe and healthy. What else matters?