Launch Week is over and all the busyness of getting a book published has lulled a bit. I still have writing and marketing tasks to work on, but they don’t feel urgent. As a sort of relaxing pseudo-vacation, I drove with Ivan to Grand Rapids, Michigan, where he attended Shed Builders Expo, and I took the opportunity to plan a lunch meeting with my literary agent, Karen Neumair of Credo Communications–the first time we’ve met in person.
Ivan and I like driving together. It gives us a chance to talk and just be together in a way that doesn’t always happen through the busyness of days. “How was your meeting?” Ivan asked on the way home.
And I said something like I felt like I was a bother, pulling Karen away from her own busy life and a sick child to have lunch with me and I just don’t feel professional, and I don’t know how to be in THAT world…the world of sharply pressed people who go to college and have careers and live in neat houses with little green lawns in the suburbs. (Even though Karen is a part-time-from-home-working Christian mom with four children, not so very much different than me).
Still, I feel inferior. I am only a farm girl. My people are messy and pell-mell and Mennonite and don’t speak proper English and have incorrect political views and don’t wear masks during COVID. They talk too loudly in the wrong places; they reach for things across the table; and their houses smell faintly of cow manure.
Whatever I do in life, wherever I go, I will always be just a little farm girl from Rusk County. I am not a REAL author, not a successful one; I am only a person pretending. Someone who knows how to look good on paper, but can’t carry it over to real life. (And just to be clear, there is nothing wrong with either farm girls or Rusk County; but I’m trying to describe my state of mind.)
Ivan reminded me that my inferiority is only in my head, that no one will think I am less than Professional (million dollar word, because who really is, right?) unless I myself think it first and project my lack of confidence to others.
He is wise.
And then we came home, and I walked in Grandma Dorothy’s door with our little girl. Grandma Dorothy and Aunt Verda were all smiles and warm welcome, talking to Annalise in rich Pennsylvania Dutch phrases.
“I MISSED you,” Grandma told her. “I need to sit down and hold you.” They sat on the couch, and Grandma showed her a little doll and Annalise cooed and cooed. This child is so loved, it does a mama’s heart good to see it.
“You’re beautiful,” Karen the agent said to Annalise. And when the child responded with one of her big smiles… “and you know it, don’t you?”
Her words surprised me. I suppose Annalise does have that satisfied air of children have who know they have a place in the world. She has been shown love by many people. And that’s a good thing, provided Ivan and I can refrain from spoiling her. All children need to know they are beautiful.
I don’t know that this blog has a point to it except that these were the two things I was thinking about that I wanted to write. They juxtapose in my mind…my shallow and worldly fear and the warm and rich love I feel for my child. My writing world; my child world. Both important worlds, but very different. I am learning how to align them.
I think that being a mother will enrich my writing. I hope that being a writer can enrich my mothering.
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The photo above is from a “carriage ride” Annalise took at a little place we stopped beside the road. Here are a couple of other photos from that spot.
One way writing has enriched my mothering already is by opening up our world to people who care. Thank you, Sarah, mother of six, who sent a children’s book to read with my one. I appreciate your thoughtfulness so much.
Perhaps after all, “your people” are more in touch with real life then many professionals? Education and professional careers can be respectable, but they’re certainly not the only way to live a purposeful life. And I sometimes hear “You’re not my real mom!” from a daughter in moments of conflict. I say I am not your birth Mom but I am a real mom! You are a real person who writes books. Sounds like a real author! P.S. I got a chance to listen to the pod cast you were on and enjoyed hearing you speak.
:) Thank you, Grace.
Lucinda I love your honesty in writing! You have a way to put conflicting thoughts on paper that is so real. I laughed, not at you but with you when I read it , to the extent that I had to read it to my husband also. The most important thing in all the world, that all the world needs, is to know God is reachable, that He will accept us if we come to Him in repentance, and you get that across.
Thank you, Martha.
I loved your description of who you are in your mind and feeling like you are pretending. Living life on the mission field gives me that same feeling. Missionaries are those good, always righteous people. I am just a little farm girl. Who do I think I am anyway? But I always come back to this.
God can use anyone. And whoever He calls, to whatever He calls them to, He enables them.
“To whatever he calls them to, he enables them.” Thank you for that! I want to put those words in my heart deep.
You are welcome, for the book. (amazon didn’t allow enough space for me to introduce myself very properly; maybe I will thru mail sometime.)
I only hope you didn’t have that one yet! It is a favorite, with rich pictures and just-right wording.
The book is beautiful, Sarah, and Annalise and I will treasure it. I haven’t had a chance to read it to her yet but will do that for the first time tonight. She really enjoys her bedtime stories even though she can’t understand the words yet. :)
Oh my Lucinda, my thoughts exactly ( about myself) in your words. ” I am only a person pretending.Someone who knows how to look good on paper but can’t carry it over to real life.” I feel like every letter,etc I write should have that written above or below it. Thank God for wise husbands who show us the truth about ourselves when we flounder in doubt. Your words are so very encouraging to me and I pray they will continue to show up where I can read them. I would have loved to join you at your book talk at the library but since I live in Canada that really wasn’t an easy option.
RosaLee, I am so glad me sharing from my experience encourages you. I hope we do get a chance to meet one of these days!
Lucinda, I know just what you mean. As a child I stuck a sign on my wall; it said #1 Author. So confident! I admired authors who visited my school and thought I would grow up to be like all my favourite writers. In my mind they sat at desks all day, typing stories. This kind of life wasn’t at all like mine as I got older. Even when my first article was published in a national magazine, I didn’t feel like a Real Author. It felt like a fluke. Yes, I could write. But no, I did not feel like a real writer, even with a list of publishing credits, a few degrees and a bit of money coming in from freelance articles. Now I think authors are real people, like the rest of us. They get sick and things go wrong with their bodies and sometimes their clothes look funny and they spend time chopping vegetables, reading other people’s books, wondering about life, loving those around them, worrying about things, rooting through very messy drawers…. You’re a writer. You write. Who wants to sit at a table opposite someone starched and perfect? No one. Because real people are drawn to real people. I think that’s why your readers love you. You write well – there’s a craft to HOW you write. And you write with authenticity – your words feel real.
Thank you, Holly. ❤️
What an interesting contrast between your daughter and you. She has “that satisfied air of children have who know they have a place in the world,” while you still feel unsure that you belong in the writing world.
Your experience and feelings resonate deeply with me and are similar to my own, for a long time. However, at some point things shifted, and I felt a little more like I belonged. I learned some of the vocabulary and customs of “that” world so I felt a little more confident, I got to know people well enough to see that we were all struggling and pretending, and I came to realize that deep down, these fancy people were hungry for loving grandmas talking Pennsylvania Dutch and a family around the dinner table, even if people reached across it. In other words, hungry for what I had to offer.
Pretty sure the same will happen for you. The uncomfortable path to getting there is an important part of your story. It is not wasted.