Cherry Pie

I'm rereading Madeleine L'Engle's journal, A CIRCLE OF QUIET, and I cherish her story of how she decided to stick out the writing life, after ten years of writing book after unpublished book. (The following excerpts are from pages 20-21 for those who want to follow along.)

But during that decade when I was in my thirties, I couldn't sell anything. If a writer says he doesn't care whether he is published or not, I don't believe him. I care. Undoubtedly I care too much. But we do not write for ourselves alone. I write about what concerns me, and I want to share my concerns. I want what I write to be read. Every rejection slip--and you could paper walls with my rejection slips--was like the rejection of me, myself, and certainly of my amour-propre.

Madeleine recounted all the reasons the publishers gave for turning her novels down. For example, publishers rejected A Wrinkle In Time, in part, because they couldn't figure out whether it was a book for adults or children. Thank goodness for today's YA distinction! Other books were rejected because they began with a death, or were too moral. She believed that the tide would turn when she turned forty. So, on her fortieth birthday, when she received the rejection of a novel which had spent enough time at a publication house to give her hope, she was crushed.

This seemed an obvious sign from heaven. I should stop trying to write. All during the decade of my thirties (the world's fifties) I went through spasms of guilt because I spent so much time writing, because I wasn't like a good New England housewife and mother. When I scrubbed the kitchen floor, the family cheered. I couldn't make a decent pie crust. I always managed to get something red in with the white laundry in the washing machine, so that everyone wore streaky pink underwear. And with all the hours I spent writing, I was still not pulling my own weight financially.

So the rejection on the fortieth birthday seemed an unmistakable command: Stop this foolishness and learn to make cherry pie.

Madeleine gave up writing, put away the typewriter, and was filled with despair. Until, that is, she realized that in her head, she was busy writing a novel about failure. It was then that she knew that she had to write.

In the moment of failure I knew that the idea of Madeleine, who had to write in order to be, was not an image.

Madeleine L'Engle published over 60 books in her life time. I'm glad she never learned to make that cherry pie. What do you think? Do you foresee a time when you might give up? Have you had a cherry pie moment? One that made you know that you will write no matter what?

Pushing Up Daffodils

Writing takes a long time. Revising takes a long time. The whole process takes a long time. And, what waits for us at the end of that rainbow of blood, sweat, and tears? Rejection. The road to publication is paved with rejection. And there are no guarantees that success (or publication) will ever follow.

Writing reminds me of that Japanese game show, Hai, Majide, but with less goo and chicken feathers. The title loosely translates as 'you've got to be crazy to do that'. Prince of All Agents, Nathan Bransford agrees, and marvels that we all stick with it. And he wants us to be happy along the way. He really is a prince, isn't he?

I find I have to push past the doubts and the feelings of being a little crazy, and just know that if I write deliberately then it will be worth it in the end. And, since it keeps me sane, then it is really worth it now, as well. (Ironic, that doing something a bit crazy keeps me sane...) I leave you now with a quote about having the courage to push forth.

A daffodil pushing up through the dark earth to the spring, knowing somehow deep in its roots that spring and light and sunshine will come, has more courage and more knowledge of the value of life than any human being I've ever met. Model yourself after the daffodil... have the courage to push your head up out of the darkness. (Madeleine L'Engle, CAMILLA)

Deep in my roots, I know that sunshine will be there when I push through.