Down time drawing to a close.
Emerging from a necessary period of stepping back,
refocusing,
inhaling deeply,
replenishing reserves.
Preparing for the headlong, heartlong, possibilities-are-endless dive into research,
writing,
revising,
querying.
Anticipating storms.
And drought.
But optimistic to achieve splendid satisfaction
in the end.
‘Tis the most ____________ time of the year.
Wonderful?
Stressful?
Anxiety-inducing?
Magical?
Whatever you call it, this is the time of year, more than any other, that people start thinking about how they will “gift” their money. And how can you help it? Just as the Thanksgiving leftovers are being wrapped in saran and refrigerated, Christmas trees start popping up in store windows all over the city like umbrellas on a rainy day. And everybody knows Christmas trees are festively cloaked foreshadowings of empty wallets. So, in keeping with the festive tradition – armed with a Starbucks eggnog latte in one hand and credit cards in the other – we begin walking off one turkey/tofurky coma in preparation for the next in search of the perfect gifts.
Some people have been opting out of going to brick-and-mortar buildings, altogether, to do their holiday shopping. They favour buying gifts online instead. I’ve done it. And I like it. It does lend itself to the likelihood of the blank above being filled with “wonderful” rather than “stressed”. Even moreso when at my side I have my favourite pottery mug steaming with aromatic peppermint tea instead of trying to grip a red-and-white foam-topped paper cup in my already full, shopping-bag-laden hands. Yes, it does reduce the level of stress somewhat. But there’s still the challenge of finding that perfect gift.
As I’ve laboured year after year over the task of finding the “perfect gift” – whether online or at the mall – so everyone on my list will be happy, I’ve come to a sobering conclusion: Happiness in our little corner of the world is measured in moments, and moments are fleeting. Fifty bucks says there’ll be something better available next month. Next week, even. And then the hard-earned happy will begin to fade (if it hadn’t started to already by then). So I’ve decided that, sure, those are good gifts and I’ll probably keep buying some of them. But the most perfect gifts I can give are those that don’t just benefit the physically present, momentarily happy recipient of the quantifiable item.
Say wha–?
No matter how or where or when I shop, no matter what I buy or how happy my choice of gift makes someone, I’ve come to realize that there is only one kind of gift that will ever be truly perfect; one kind of gift that will outshine even all the Boxing Week specials. And that’s a gift that’s been given with the promise of hope attached.
Hope is unquantifiable. It’s elusive. It’s not easily defined. But it’s the stuff life is made of. Without it … Well, just think about the implications for a minute. (Or simply reach for the nearest dystopian novel and give it a quick scan. That’ll give you a pretty good picture.)
We can easily give lasting gifts that have the promise of hope attached. We can provide survivors of sex trafficking and/or those living in poverty with an income, education, and dignity. We can help provide a means to break their cycle of poverty; provide a stepping stone for them to climb above their dystopianesque lifestyle and have hope for a future. What could possibly be a more perfect gift? And you can bet your fuzzy red Christmas stocking that a gift like that won’t be obsolete by next week.
Whether you’re planning on firing up your PayPal account or are preparing to dive into the masses at the malls, when you make your decisions about how you will gift your money this year please consider including some lasting gifts of hope on your list. Here are a few links to get you started:
Opportunity International Christmas Gifts
The truly perfect gift is just a click away.
Good Rejection …
Is that kind of like Good Grief?
An oxymoron?
A joke?
A sarcastic zinger?
Something people only say when they’ve been rejected so many times that they just have to find something positive to say or else they’ll dissolve into a puddle of salty tears and never be able to transmute into solid matter ever again?
Rejection is never easy. Ever. And each one has the potential to bring us one step closer to becoming that puddle. But there are those instances that should be acknowledged as being plausibly good. And one should be prepared to accept them as such, to use them as a stepping stone away from the melt-down.
I’ll admit: form letters are not good rejection. The “Dear Author, Thanks for your submission but no,” type do not generally inspire me to a greater level of self-confidence, nor towards a desire to … do anything, really. They just sting.
However, a form letter with even one drip of pen ink in the shape of a word … That’s worthy of not being lumped in with the rest. Unless that word emphasizes how much they thought my work stunk – which, really, they’d never take the time to do – then I need to be prepared to take that hand-written note and do something with it.
It might say something like, “Thanks for your submission. We really enjoyed reading it and wish you all the best of success.”
Or, “Thanks for your submission. Although your work is not right for our list, we hope you will find a good fit.”
Or even, if you’re really special, “Please submit something else.”
“But those are still rejections!” you might say. “Show me the money!”
Those kinds of words, written by hand in ink, are the money, my friend. Think about it: These people potentially receive thousands of queries each month, and instead of simply stuffing a pre-folded form letter into your SASE and moving on to the next query, they took the time to unfold that letter, pick up a pen, and write. To you. Personally. You must have done something right. So instead of impaling that piece of paper onto the nail with all the form letters you’ve collected, keep it aside. Use it as a stepping stone away from the melt-down. Take a breath. Regroup. Adjust your lenses. And, by George, don’t just sit around waiting for your next SASE to show up in your mailbox. Figure out what that something is that you did right, and make it better! That’s why that publisher/agent took the time to write to you.
“Oh. If only I’d get a handwritten note.”
Maybe you haven’t. Maybe all you’ve ever received are un-inked rejections. Maybe you’ve wallpapered your room with form letters. May I suggest something? I mean, something you can do after unpapering your room?
Take a breath. Regroup. Adjust your lenses. And, by George, don’t just sit around waiting for your next SASE to show up in your mailbox.
That’s right. Same as above. The only difference is that you might want to take the time to figure out what doesn’t work in your writing, and make it better. Maybe you’re not quite there yet, but that doesn’t mean you’ll never be. Join a critique group. Take a writing class. Surround yourself with other writers. Be open to suggestions. Read a ton. It’s amazing what can be learned both formally and through osmosis.
What you don’t want to do is come to the conclusion that all publishers/agents are idiots and don’t know good writing when they see it. Please don’t do that. This isn’t about them. It’s about you. It’s about how you can become the best damn writer you can possibly be. It’s about refining yourself, your craft, your inner voice. It’s about stepping outside of yourself for a clear view and determining what kind of a person you’re going to be: Will you fight for what you want by fighting others, or will you fight for what you want by improving yourself? I’ll argue the latter is far more effective.
Rejection is never easy. Ever. But the good thing – really! – is that how it ultimately affects us and our work is in nobody’s control but our own. So, seize the opportunity. Take a hold of those rejections, both inked and un-inked, and decide how you’ll fight for what you want.
May the best (wo)man win.
