She took her broken pieces and threw them into the hottest part of the fire.
“Giving up?” they asked.
“Reforging,” she said.
I printed her luxurious words out the moment I read them and pinned them in front of my computer so I can look at them when I feel discouraged.
I’m currently querying a YA manuscript. Querying isn’t for the weak. Writing isn’t for the laissez faire. Both take courage and flexibility, but this week had too many ups and downs. My well of strength is running dry. I feel parched and spent.
I don’t feel good about myself, doubt my abilities, and creative worth.
As a writer, I know revisions take compromise and time. It can take me days or weeks to settle into notes I receive. My ego must be quieted and then I have to let my creativity find a way to tackle an issue.
The thing is, I’ve made the changes to my book I was asked for, was told I did a fantastic job, and still got turned down. I’m hardly the first writer who dealt with the ego crushing, “I’m sorry it’s a pass for me,” email.
But while reading those words I swear I saw parts of me crack and fall off as if I was being chipped away. Made to watch my own demise.
Then I looked at Kimberly’s words and I remembered who I am.
I’m a badass.
I pulled my big girl business panties on and gathered my broken parts scattered around my desk and kitchen floors, laying flat between dirty laundry, picked up the fragments left between the pages of revisions and taped myself back together enough to allow my character to shine, a bit of my quirk to sparkle, my humor and determination to pulsate before putting it all into the fire.
So don’t mind me, sizzling in these searing orange flames, a phoenix regenerating, forged in my trial by fire.
I can’t wait to see what I’ll look like when I rise.
Hope you’re doing well, too.