In preparation of this, I planned yesterday carefully. First thing in the morning, I compiled the manuscript into one file and then skimmed it over and over again correcting the obvious formatting errors.
Then I wrote a cover letter, attached the entire folder entitled Way of Letting Go - then - to an imaginary drum roll - I pressed SEND. Minutes later, my agent and publisher both said that they received it - and congratulated me on meeting my deadline.
But they haven't read it. They have forty day to read it, decide that it is just a bunch of gobbledygook, and return it to me. And then I'll be in a million pieces again. Till then I'm going to imagine that it will all be successful. I am going to bask in the simple delight that I met my deadline. The actual "deadline" was only imposed three months ago -- so that is a bit of a miracle.
After sending it, I went out to lunch with a former colleague/friend, Scott Harris, from Ottawa at the magnificent little hot spot in the heart of St. Boniface, the Marion Street Eatery. It was packed. I had clam chowder - perfect!
But the conversation was even better. I talked endlessly about my manuscript - and he listened. And for any who know him, he is an exquisite listener - which is why he has attained the position he has. Then together, we explored what my recent learnings from my writing and what that might look like if applied in a different contexts. Fascinating! I decided that he too needed to write a book.
In the evening, after a casual dinner with my dear husband, we went to see the movie Risen at the St. Vital movie theater. I will never get enough of story. But I'm always a little nervous about watching a "Jesus" movie, they always fall short. Can anyone ever capture those ancient moments that still are alive today?
But it wasn't bad. The opening was lame, but I did get into it. What I liked about this movie was the way it portrayed the Nazarene and his relationship with the disciples. I think some of the charisma/intimacy of the teacher/leader and his followers, was captured on the screen. His eyes actually connect.
The twelve act like a gaggle of men who are addicted to him. They are infatuated with him, alive when they see him, lost when he is dead, alive when he reappears, lost when he disappears again. They are obsessed with him. Just seeing that impact on them was dramatic for me.
I like that feeling of being obsessed with something. Obsessed, possessed, driven, infatuated, focused, enraptured, committed... ready to go the distance.
The world fades. Nothing is that important.
I envied those gaggle of men - even in their grief.
“Book collecting (or writing) is an obsession, an occupation, a disease, an addiction, a fascination, an absurdity, a fate. It is not a hobby. Those who do it must do it. Those who do not do it, think of it as a cousin of stamp collecting, a sister of the trophy cabinet, bastard of a sound bank account and a weak mind.” ― Jeanette Winterson