• I finished my novel and it is officially on submission. Writing is truly a hurry-up-and-wait sort of thing. The few rejections I’ve gotten have been so positive, it’s hard to feel bad about them–a “love it, but it’s too similar to something on our backlist” is not a bad thing. I hope that means that a sale is coming soon. Of course, “soon” in publishing terms could be quite long.
• In November I FINISHED my freakin’ BACHELOR’S DEGREE!!! I started eight years ago and after a whole lot of work, I now have a shiny diploma. I’m shopping around for the perfect frame for it. Any old frame simply will not do. It is amazing how much of my brain is now freed up to think of other things–mainly books. And organizing my house–it is the one thing I’ve neglected.
• In October I flew out to Illinois and visited my little sister for ten days. Seriously. So. Great. In fact, I got my first rejection from an editor while I was at the Art Institute of Chicago. Is it even possible to feel sad while immersed in Monet? I think not.
• October through December were full of “A Christmas Carol.” My entire family was in on the act again. I played the part of Mrs. Crachit and had an absolutely fabulous time. I’m looking forward to “Fiddler” in the spring.
• I’ve had trouble starting my second novel. With my degree and the play and a busy church calling, it was easy to find distractions. But, now I’m settling down. I’m going to do my own little NaNoWriMo for February. Starting my book was like pulling out a sliver. Painful, but a huge relief at the same time.

Now to get onto what I want to blog about. I’ve been thinking a lot about life and death. My grandmother is dying. It’s okay. She’s ninety.

I sat beside her last Tuesday. Her skin is translucent, wrinkled and thin, but she is absolutely beautiful. Her fingers are bony–almost skeletal, but when I look at them I see mine. I see how much I have inherited from her. Her forehead is shaped just like mine. I smooth her hair. The texture as if I’m running my fingers through my own. It’s as if I have a glimpse of my own future.

She is sleeping a deep, deep sleep. The hospice chaplain is there for his bi-weekly visit. He explains of the separation of her spirit from her body–how it happens a little at a time. “Practicing” he calls it. I believe him. It does seem as if she isn’t there at all. She is snoring quietly.

Her breath is labored, but after awhile she rouses and gradually her eyes open. I can’t tell if she is truly awake or not. Her stare is empty. Her brown eyes (the same color as mine) no longer see. She stares straight ahead, but when I speak, she turns her head to me.

“Grandma,” I say. “It’s Melinda.”

“What are you doing, silly girl?” she says. Her humor so like mine. I always understood my grandma. Her words make me want to laugh and cry inside at the same time. She’s had dementia for months now. Not recognizing anyone but Grandpa and Aunt Marlene. I want her to know me. I hope that she does.  I want to cling to her and every childhood memory and yet, I so desperately want her to be free from her mortal hindrance. Her strength is spent. She can no longer walk. No longer be of use. That is the part of it that she hated the most. And yet, for the past year, she has been at peace. At peace with herself and at peace with the world.

There is something so satisfying about a life well-lived. Her body is worn out, but not a bit of it wasted. She worked hard–very hard–her entire life. She got great satisfaction from it. Six children. More grand children and great grandchildren than I’ve kept track of–number-wise at least.

Aunt Diane  leans over Grandma from the opposite side of the bed. “How are you, Mother?” She uses the word “Mother” with such tenderness and reverence, I’m caught a little of guard. I think of all the years that she has lived just through the fields from her mother-in-law and how much she loves her. I remember when she spoke at Grandpa’s birthday party about what a blessing it was to live near them. I feel a desire that someone would say the same thing about me. I want to be better, do better, live better.

Grandma is in pain. “I hurt,” she says. We find the morphine and put a dropper full in her mouth. I ask her if she needs water and she barely nods. I put the straw to her lips and coax her to drink. It takes effort, but she does it. Aunt Diane smooths her hair over and over. “It’s going to be okay.” She comforts. “Everything is all right.” Aunt Diane seems to know just what do to and I wish I felt the same about me.

“Do you think I’ll get better?” Grandma asks her.

“Better than you’ve ever been.” Aunt Diane smiles. “All you pain and worries will be gone.”

“Oh, I hope. I hope. I hope, ” she whispers. I hope, too.

Grandpa sits in the rocking chair and watches her, red-eyed and little worried. I can see it, but he doesn’t despair. He is a pillar of strength. Not physically. Not at ninety two, but mentally. No, spiritually. He understands. He knows that when she dies, their separation will be a short one. I have no doubt that he will soon follow after her. And they will be together. Forever.

Grandma sleeps some more. This time her breathing is smooth and relaxed. The morphine has done it’s job and I am grateful. The oxygen machine hums from the other room. We sing a few hymns–the Chaplain leads out. The Spirit in the room is strong and powerful. I’ve never felt anything quite like it. The chaplain suggests that we say a prayer around her. We stand and hold hands in a circle around her bed. His words are of thanks for her life. They speak such comfort and I can’t hold back the tears. It feels so right. We come to earth and live and then we leave. It’s just the way of it. It is fitting and satisfying and yet sad.

I go to leave. Grandma wakes up, though I didn’t expect it. I lean over her.
“I love you, Grandma.” I say. I smooth her hair, I put my hand on her cheek.

“Oh, you sweet thing,” she says. I thank her. I tell her that I will always remember her beautiful flowers. I love snap dragons because of her. “You do?” she asks. I tell her that I’ll remember her dill pickles, her big garden. Fresh cucumbers and frozen corn. She smiles. I tell her that I remember our walks and especially our talks. I’ll miss those the most.

“You were the best grandma that anyone could ask for,” I say. She smiles again. I try not to cry and I kiss her cheek. I tell her good bye. It could be the last. I hate good bye. But I want her to go. I don’t want her to be in pain.

She hasn’t eaten since Tuesday. I’m going to go and sit by her again today. Watch and wait.

My little sister texted me yesterday. She is expecting her second and just found out that it was boy. It was such a joy to hear the news and share and wonder what this new little person will be like. The miracle of birth.

A new life beginning.

An old life ending.

Both so wonderful.

Connected.

Perfect.

My children spend their hours playing and jumping on the trampoline–just as I did as a child. As for me, I putter around, writing snippets, reading books and breathing in the delicious mountain air. My soul is soothed by the peaceful, laid-back environment and I love the fact that NOTHING and I mean NOTHING is going on. Plus, my little nephew is here and he is a seven month old baby delight of which I must regularly partake. I can cuddle that boy to my hearts content and that makes me very, very happy.

One other thing that I love about being here: feeling the past. I love to think of how insecure as a child I felt about the future. Now that the future is here, I have to say, I am MOST delighted at how my life is turning out. What more could one ask for?

I can’t live like this every day. I would go insane! But, what a delightful break.

Update on my book: Revisions are almost complete! Whew! I’ve complete rewritten the ending and revised my brains out! I should be ready to send my MS back to my agent by August!

Update on my schooling: Just finished my poetry mid-term. Three and one-half classed to go until my degree is complete!!!

I am so pleased to announced that I am now officially agented by the amazing Steven Chudney of The Chudney Agency. (Pausing here for applause. Thank you. You are too, too kind. Thank you.)

I was first impressed with Steven last fall when I signed up for a pitch session at an SCBWI Conference in Salt Lake City. It came about as a last minute thing: I thought I wouldn’t be able to attend the conference, but when my schedule opened up, I was able to send Sydney Salter my first ten pages with only minutes to spare. (It really helps to have friends in high places–Sydney, who I am lucky to be in a writing group with, was also in charge of the conference. Moral of this story? Network. And writers are nice people.) She said my writing was good enough to be put in the agent pile (I hoped she wasn’t just doing because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings.) and sent it off to Steven–which I promptly forgot about. Hey, I had A LOT on my plate at the time.

When conference time came I remember two things distinctly: the unreasonable amount of nervousness that nearly paralyzed me and a sinking feeling that he wouldn’t like my book. You see, I had no excuse for the nerves–this was not my first pitch session, but the sinking feeling was a result from sitting in on his presentation that took place just before lunch and my pitch session. He seemed very competent, knowledgeable, and even dreamy as far as agents go, but (and that is a big but) he had no interest in fantasy. And I imagined myself standing in my underwear with a fairytale in my hands. My novel is not high fantasy. It’s a sleeping beauty story with all the fantastical elements of a fairy tale: witches, sleeping potions, and magic–but no dragons. I can’t do dragons. (Why didn’t I do my homework and see what he liked beforehand?!)

“He’s going to HATE it,” I thought. But, I put my chin up, and picked the lunch from my teeth–important for a good first impression. (I met his two other lovely clients, Tess Hilmo and Kristen Landon in the process–in the ladies room no less. They wished me well.) I decided that since my novel was OBVIOUSLY not a good fit, I would take the opportunity to ask him for some good advice, and chalk it all up to experience.

That’s when the Nerves of Unusual Size befriended me–known, also, as NOUS’s–a most unwelcome guest that takes potshots at your knees and stomach and, finally, your vocal chords. Now here is where Steven’s impressiveness took it up a notch. He was kind. I think my nervousness was obvious, because he was very reassuring and friendly. And kind. Did I mention that already? He shook my fish-limp-NOUS-attacked hand and tried to set me at ease.

My ten pages were sitting on the desk in this beside him and the awkwardness returned.

“It’s too fantastical!” I thought. But upon closer observation I saw two words written on the front. Nice Writing.

And the rest is history….

Okay, not really. But, I was hugely relieved! I told him what the rest of my novel was about. I hadn’t sent him a cover letter or synopsis, so he had no idea that it was a fantasy of sortsl. And he liked it. He wanted to see more.He liked my other novel ideas as well–he liked them even BETTER. I left that pitch session feeling a little bit of shock. Okay, it was A LOT of shock. I never dreamed that it would have gone so well. I remember thinking, “He gets it. He gets what my story really is.”

I waited for five months and rewrote it. (I don’t necessarily advise this.) Then I sent him the fifty pages that he had requested. He responded almost immediately and wondered what had taken me so long? He wanted to see the rest! Thankfully, he was understanding and PATIENT, because I put him off for another couple of months to rewrite it again. (I know. I know. But, how can you not send your best work when the stakes are so high?)

So, I FINALLY sent him the entire ms. He requested snail mail. I printed off all those lovely, wonderful, warm laser printed pages. Wrapped them in parchment and string. (Okay, it was only a rubber band and a cardboard box, but I am waxing sentimental here. I can’t help it.) I WAS MAILING A MANUSCRIPT TO NEW YORK. TO AN AGENT IN NEW YORK. Greatest. Day. Of. My. Life. (Childbearing and marriage not included.) I felt this crazy, surreal connection to every childhood author I had read.

And I thought, “even if I get rejected, I won’t care (too much) because this gave me the chance to do what thousands of authors have done before me: Send off a manuscript through the mail with hope and a prayer.” My heart surged with pure joy at this connection. (I am a sap. I am the first to admit it.)

Then I went home and immediately started checking my email, because it wouldn’t get there until Monday or Tuesday, but there is no time like the present to turn neurotic. And I emailed Steven to tell him it was on the way.

He replied, “Great! I’ll try to get back with you within a couple of weeks.”

And I obsessively checked my email every day–to the detriment of even feeding my children. (Meals are so over-rated when your publishing future hangs in the balance and neurosis are in full force!)

And, the rest was lovely. At the first email response that he would like to discuss representation with me. I screamed, frightening my children momentarily, and then I cried. (Sap? That’s me.)

And we had lovely and properly awkward phone conversations. And the contract made everything official.

And now to revise! I love to revise too much, I think. But, now I’m moving forward with direction and purpose. (Like Vector. How many times have YOU seen Despicable Me? I’ll bet I win.)

Moral of this story: It’s sometimes okay not to do your homework. And don’t be afraid to put yourself out there–even at the risk of NOUS’s. It’s worth it.

So, to end this longest post of all blog posts I’ve ever written, I proclaim it all a wonderful blessing for which I am very, very grateful.

And now I must be back to my writing. . . . otherwise, you’ll never be able to read my book!

I heard a loud groaning behind me at as the door to the sallyport opened and lantern light tumbled down the stairs. With it a cold fear washed over me. The bounty hunter had found me. My heart pounded in my ears now and I turned and ran full force through the darkness  with my hands outstretched, groping and stumbling until I ran straight into it.

The outside door. Freedom.

I could hear his footsteps coming fast behind me. A stumble followed by cussing. In a few moments. I’d be his. The wavy lantern light grew steadier. I pushed on the door with every bit of strength I had. It gave way more easily than I had expected and I found myself buried face down in a pile of dead thrushes on the outside of the castle wall. I jumped up frantically and tried to drag myself through the tangle of deep grass and mud. More like swimming than running. My foot caught on a skinny log partially buried by the grass. What luck! I picked up one end of it and dragged it quickly over to the sallyport door which had swung shut behind me. With surely only seconds to spare,  I heaved the log against the door, wedging it tight. Jumping up and down on it for good measure. It sank a few more inches into the mud. Who knew how long it would hold, but it was worth a try to buy me some time.
I pushed through the grassy mote and then sprinted toward the forest. The night was stark clear and still. The soft churning of the River Nodd the only sound to be heard other than my gasping as I tried to catch my breath, still I didn’t slow. My lungs burned and the cold bit at my cheeks. I ran on.

I hesitated as I reached the forest’s edge. Dare I enter? The forest was dangerous place with thieves and robbers and wild animals–where few dared go alone. Where girls like me could disappear forever. The bare trees stood with their skeleton arms lifted to the sky as if to warn me, to stop me from entering, echoing Tate’s words of caution. Stop, they seemed to say, do not enter here. I ignored their haunted plea. Instead, I ran  headlong toward them. It was the only way I would survive.

So, there you have it. Page 99. I love to write….And now I must go and fix page 69-79. They are giving me grief! Delete and rewrite is what I’m going to do. Eep! Wish me well….

Is anyone, besides my mom, reading this anymore? I must do better at blogging. I see so many of you over at facebook, that I find my time spent over there more than here, but, I will do better!

So, where to begin. . . .

As you know, I spent the summer blissfully revising. Hundreds of early summer morning hours spent listening to Vivaldi and Daughtry and clicking away at my novel. And loving how it was shaping up.

Then school started and my statistics class, my entire family and I were cast in a play, and I was given a substantial church calling and my writing suffered. Or so I thought. I took a two month break from my fairytale and just when I thought I was ready to move on, more ideas came. Better dialog. Arguments between characters. Delightful little snippets and dashes all rushing into my brain and out my fingertips.

Will I ever tire of this novel? I. Think. Not.

And I realized that instead of neglecting my writing for the past two months, I have just taken a needed respite. And now I am refreshed and ready to fix everything again.

Just in time, too.

I’ve been querying and attending conferences; and I’ve been able to create some interest. I’ve had several requests from agents to see more and I’m quite thrilled at the response I’ve been getting. (Some very nice rejections!) I’m glad for them, though. They are letting me know that I’m on the right path and before too long, hopefully, I will find that agents who really “gets” what my story is–that intangible thing that you feel and know more than you can articulate.

Just the thought gives me heart palpitations. Because more than anything, dear reader, I want to share my book with you.

It’s really delightful. And just a great read. I know I’m hopelessly biased. And I’m sure I love my ugly baby like no mother could, but I lose myself in this story–in the words and the characters and the excitement. I want you to get lost in it, too.

So, hold on, dear friends. My story will yet see the light of day. I just know it.

And now I must revise and ready my next submission to an agent. Gulp. Wish me luck! Oh, thank you all for your support! I have such wonderful, wonderful family and friends who encourage me and always ask how my story is and if they can read it yet.

It’s coming. . . . I promise.