The Logic of Illogic

It took Ester Levine my media escort in Atlanta to make me see the light.

I am not going to have any control in this book industry.

And not only will I not ever have any control, I can not make any predictions although it’s entirely within my right to set some goals. Personal goals. And this week in Atlanta I was telling everyone my goals.

This week I wasn’t shy about anything.

And maybe it was stress, or nerves, or lack of sleep but I asked people things they didn’t want to answer, either because they couldn’t, or they were uncomfortable. And did that dissuade me? No. It just encouraged me to ask for clarification, for information, for explanation, even on topics that probably weren’t the most polite cocktail conversation.

And what were those topics? I wanted to know facts, numbers, results, plans, outcome. I wanted to know if I’m in this alone or if there are others at my publisher on the same page with me.

I know I really shouldn’t push or press. Not in beaded tops, not in cocktail dresses, not in pleated Grecians gowns. I should take the champagne flute and let the bubbles tickle my nose and be glad I’m published. Be glad I’ve got editors and contracts.

But it’s not that simple.

I burn to write. Burn to share. Burn to know if any one out there– any reader, any writer, any daughter, woman, mother understands.

Do others dream big? Do others want more?

My more means I want be widely read. Which means I need a big print run and books in stores so readers can find them, buy them.

More means job stability and help with the promo and publicity.

More means confidence and peace.

I realized at the conference that I’m building a writing career on childhood needs and dreams. And that is probably reckless and foolish, but I’ve had this internal compass so long I don;t know how to turn it off.

I don’t know that I want to turn it off.

I like being a writer. I like being a writer that believes passionately in writing warm, funny, touching stories for women. And if I’m going to write, then I’m going to just go for it. Just go until I can’t go any longer.

There are times I think I might be setting myself up for a spectacular failure because yes, my sights are high, so high, I could very well crash and burn.

But if that should happen, promise me you’ll pull up a chair and pretend it’s the 4th of July and watch the fireworks. Because I’m going for it, I’m charging ahead with every one of those little girl and teenage dreams. I’m going for the big books. The successful career. And the guy who will love me despite everything.

Will I get it? I don’t know. But we don’t get anything if we don’t dream, set the goal, and then go for it. And go for it, body and soul.