Book ends…

We’ve been cleaning house recently. I’m not talking about dusting-the-knick-knacks cleaning. I’m talking about rent-a-dumpster-and-fill-it-up-in-three-days cleaning. I’m talking about half-a-dozen-trips-to-Goodwill cleaning. I’m talking about I-haven’t-seen-that-thing-in-12-years cleaning. Among the many treasures I’ve excavated is a folder containing a sad batch of letters.
About ten years ago, I started writing a story. Although I’d never written anything longer than a school research paper, I set a goal for myself: three pages a day. Whether they were good or bad, I couldn’t stop writing until I had typed three pages full of words. In a few weeks, it was clear that I had a novel on my hands and I was excited. I was often surprised by how my own story was turning out. There were days when I would be teary-eyed over something said by a character I had created!
When I finished the novel, I let lots of friends read it and then I began to try to get it published. What I found while cleaning last week was my folder of rejection letters. Thirty, maybe forty or more notes of negativity. Some were obvious form letters while others were brief hand-written notes. But all said the same thing: we don’t want your book. I guess I saved the rejections so that, when the book was finally published, I could say, “Thirty-seven people rejected my book before it became the best-selling book—soon to be a major motion picture—of the year.” But nobody ever said yes and eventually I stopped trying.
I’m glad to say that last week, I threw away that folder of rejection. And I thought of how we carry around the other rejections we experience in our lives for years and years, wallowing in our unworthiness. Throw them away; your Author loves the story you—and He—are writing together.

Ladies & Gentlemen: We Have BOOKS!

I came back from lunch yesterday, Monday, August 13th, to find eight boxes waiting for me. I borrowed a dolly and made a couple of trips to put them in my office before I ever opened a box up. I was nervous about how the quality of the print job might be, but I'm totally pleased with how the books look. I told my wife, "It looks like an actual book!" which is a goofy thing to say, but she knew what I meant. I couldn't resist showing them around to some of the staff members, but I'm not letting anyone have a copy just yet. I decided a couple of weeks ago that I would have a book release party and even do some readings from the book; inspired by seeing David Sedaris, I suppose. I was very pleased that Dave Haney, the senior pastor, seemed genuinely pleased that I had put this project together, and he's already offered to plug it during the weeks before the release party.
I can't believe they're here, but they are. I'm very proud, even though I paid to publish the book myself. It's a tangible sign that I've actually produced a body of work, work which (I hope) a lot of people will find interesting and inspiring. More info on the release party coming soon!

Self(less) Portrait

I was waiting for the light to change and I glanced into the rearview mirror. In the car behind me, a woman held up her cellphone, turned it around, smiled quickly and obviously snapped a picture of herself. She looked at the screen, apparently was not happy with the results, and went through the process again: hold up phone, smile, click, check the photo. The stoplight turned green and I made a left onto 360, beginning to pick up speed. I looked in the mirror again and she was still behind me … and she was taking another self-portrait … while driving 55 miles an hour. Hold up phone, smile, click, look.
It made me want to know her story. Who would receive the picture of her smile if she ever got it to come out perfectly? Whose workday would begin with a shot of her looking happy? Would she ever admit how many rejected poses she took or would she play it like “Oh, I just snapped this in the car real fast”?
The snapshot that will remain in my memory is of someone attempting to send out a smile, someone actually transmitting happiness to another person.
Movies — “moving pictures” — don’t really move at all; they’re just a series of still photos taken in rapid succession, tiny moments frozen in time. If God decides to snap a picture of you at 8:05 tomorrow morning, what sort of image would be captured? You pounding on the steering wheel? Putting on makeup? Trying to start your heart with a Starbucks transfusion? Cussing out another driver? The pictures God would want for His scrapbook would probably be more like the smiling woman … or the kiss goodbye … or giving money to the homeless person.
He’s focused on you right now, you know.
Smile.