No one really cares—finding out they do

In December, around Pearl Harbor Day—does anyone still observe, even care, or know what this means?!—I had a nice phone call with an editor from a small publishing house. They are intrigued by one of my manuscripts, a nonfiction project that I’ve been pedaling, peddling (it’s about cycling) for a while now. I wish someone would love it like I do. In fact that’s what our conversation consisted of: Why do I love it? Why did I write it? And can I change it and revise it and make it better? I wasn’t sure. Another good friend and reader told me—you have to bleed on the page. Not literally, but go back she encouraged me and really drive down to the emotional core. I mean it’s a memoir.

She’s right/write. I did need to drill down and really think about how I felt about living in community, my marriage, and about riding my bike. Writing/riding is like the saying goes: like riding a bike—except that doesn’t explain things, such as the why and how I got here.

So for the past 2 weeks I’ve been butt in chair trying to go back and re-think. Revisions use a different part of the brain, different from the creative, first draft side. I find that I can revise and organize, much like working a puzzle, searching for the right piece that locks in, but when it comes to filling in pages with new writing, I first need a physical break. Maybe shoveling the snow off the deck or fetching water from the main house.

All this to say, I’m making progress.

I had a breakfast meeting early in January with a MSU writing & rhetoric professor. Cheryl J. Fish helped make the connection. I’m grateful because now at the end of a long revisioning day I can email Dawn and say—Hey! I’m on page – and she ALWAYS responds with encouraging words to KEEP GOING!

We all need these kinds of people.