Instead we focus on the little things. And when I say we, I mean me, but I also mean you, because I'm guessing that ninety percent of the readers of this blog also look for the little things that provide a sense of control over our experience of the external world.
Dual airbags, savings accounts or even something as simple as letting calls go to voice mail. I could make an argument that all these things, and many, many more are, to some degree, about control.
|This dog would agree with me!|
After we've finished writing we comb through our manuscript trying to make it as tight as possible. It's crucial to control the typos, grammar glitches and awkward sentences. We spend years of our lives behind a keyboard controlling and then, one day, BAM. We have to let go.
On my daughter's first day of kindergarten, I tucked things away in her cubbie, kissed her good bye, kissed her good bye again and loitered in the doorway until the teacher told me to leave.
Afterwards I went home and called my best friend. Over the phone I sobbed, "I feel like Child #1 is an amazing piece of modern art, a masterpiece. But not everyone likes modern art. Some people hate it. What if she goes unrecognized? What if they don't love her the way I do? What if I'm the only one who ever notices her funny quirks and brilliant insights?"
And to a similar degree, this is the way I feel about my writing. It's defenseless and vulnerable. How can I bear to give it over to a harsh, cruel world where it might experience rejection? How on earth can I possibly let it go?
You wouldn't think kindergarten and publishing would have so much in common but they do. In fact kindergarten did a lot to help me prepare for publishing. I'll talk about all those commonalities on Monday.