Sitting...

This morning, I sat in my swivel chair with this computer on the desk in front of me. The page, the first of a new chapter, was blank. Usually, when I end a chapter I write one or two sentences of the new chapter, which makes it easier to get going the next day. 'Look at that! Wow! I already started!' I wished I had written even one sentence before I stopped yesterday. But I didn't. 

Consequently, I sat and stared and thought, and perused the photos and sea shells and stones I've collected from various places of importance. Then I sat some more. And looked at everything again. And checked the time. I shifted in my chair so I would be more comfortable sitting and thinking about things that had nothing to do with writing the next chapter of my novel. Nothing whatsoever. 

Many authors suggest that the most important thing you can do as a writer is to plant your butt in the chair whether you have something to say or not. The discipline of showing up each day is vital. If that is the case, then today I succeeded beyond measure! 

If words had come, though, it would have been an even greater success.

Slowly, slowly

 I am working on what may become my next novel. It is set in the late 1940s and the 1950s. The main character is a fifteen year old girl who gets pregnant. The father is eighteen and consent is questionable. She is sent to a home for unwed mothers, where she makes a friend, whose pregnancy will end tragically. I am also working on the main characters' parents and their backstory. I plan to introduce another family, a young couple who have an adopted son. The wife, to their surprise, became pregnant and is about to deliver another son.  One of these two children will develop polio. 

As of now, I don't have a title, which is unusual for me. And I remain unsure whether I have a story. I have written forty+ pages.  

Oof, rejection

My first significant book rejection came in the late 1970s when I was still a parish pastor. I had written a book of essays, poems, etc. which I submitted to MacMillan. It was accepted. I had lengthy talks with the editor about art work, etc. Being very excited, I told family and friends. Then there was silence from MacMillan. Finally, I reached the editor who told me that at a year end budget meeting they decided not to publish it. Very embarrassing and discouraging. He said, "Maybe will get you on your tenth book." I never submitted to them again, but twelve years later my first co-authored book (theme: mental health and healthcare) came out. Six years after that another co-authored professional book came out. Fifteen years later my first novel came out. In November of this year, my 11th novel will be released. 

Along the way, I had at least a hundred and fifty more rejections, but none more significant to me than the first. (When my 10th book was released, I felt a little extra satisfaction.)