I didn’t understand… I had been eagerly anticipating this two-hour window all week. For the first time in longer than I’d care to admit, I was headed to the library and straight into the children’s section. I couldn’t wait to wander around, pulling new finds and old favorites off the shelf to soak up and read quietly. But I found myself speeding though the books, unsatisfied. In fact, some of my favorites, I didn’t even finish! There was a restlessness and unsettled spirit I couldn’t put my finger on. Fewer buildings brought me as much joy as a library, and never more so then surrounded by picture books. This was completely unprecedented in my happy place!
To be fair, I made this trip on a week that was rough. I’ve written about conference hangovers before, and this year I’ve been struggling to shake it. I mean really struggling. I haven’t been reading like I should, so I intentionally scheduled this library run for myself. It was supposed to brighten my mood and lift my spirits, instead I “wasted time” (I even started scrolling Facebook instead of turning pages, GASP.) I managed to eek out a few minutes of revisions on a manuscript that I was carrying, to save face (from myself) and limped out the door. I didn’t check out any books, I didn’t want to bring anything home tainted with the mood of the day. I felt lost.
The next few hours were a blur of homework, dance costumes and baseball practice. I had nearly forgotten about my dreadful afternoon. Then I turned off the lights, laid down in bed and started to cry. The tears came with such intensity, I was completely stunned. I didn’t understand where they came from, or why they were happening… until I did. When I started this journey, my oldest was prime picture book age and most probably went over my youngest’s head. But here we are, 2 out of 3 of my kids read MG novels to themselves before bed at night. I’ve effectively instilled a love of reading in them, and now, they don’t need me. My youngest will be in Kindergarten next year and still loves to crawl on my lap and listen to a story, but I see how my time is running out. Soon, the picture books that I bring home from the library will be just for me. It made me sad and if I’m honest, enormously disappointed.
I recognize how I felt at the library now, in my line of work, we call it anticipatory grief; the mourning of an expected loss, before it actually happens. I secretly hoped to be closer to being published by now. I knew to anticipate the journey to be long, but that didn’t stop me from hoping for something different. It was an unofficial, off the record, self-inflicted (grossly unrealistic) deadline that was about to pass me by. The tears also finally brought to the surface all the questions and self-doubt that I had been trying to silence. We all know that avoiding a question doesn’t make it go away, and so the longer I tried, the louder they got and the farther away I pushed my stories and social media; facing my characters and the kidlit world I love meant facing the questions. Questions of my dedication to the dream, my abilities to write and the intention behind it all anyway. No one ever told me that this journey would be easy. Nothing I’ve ever read said that publishing is for the faint of heart, quite the opposite actually. A few years ago, I could easily answer the why’s and how’s… but lately, it’s been murky to say the least.
Thankfully, tears are often the prequel to clarity. I decided to continue showing up, writing a little each day, even if it didn’t feel earth-shattering, and re-engaging with my community. I even wrote myself a post-it note that says, SHOW UP TO WORK. If I had to guess, that’s one of the greatest struggles as a pre-published, un-agented author. No one is waiting on us to show up. No one, except for the main characters of our stories and the deep-seated desires of our own heart begging to be set free. Since that day there have been enjoyable library trips, conversations with my kids about my WIPs with new stories (& blog posts) surging to the surface. I think I feel relief too, free from the burden of an approaching deadline that I was never supposed to meet. I’m excited to see what’s next. I’m eager to write each day, and I’ll keep showing up as long as you do too.