The last two weeks have been crazy, like stuck to the front of a semi truck on the freeway crazy. I’m talking with several agents about my work in progress, Music of Sacred Lakes, and it feels like there’s something really special here that is about to take off, even though I still don’t know what that’s going to look like. While I’m getting feedback such as “this is beautiful,” and “you write wonderfully,” I have also struggled with deciding if I’m going to make some additions to the book to make it more accessible. I’m making some changes, not others, and because I think I’m on to something here with not just this book but my style in general running short, this feels much bigger to me than a single decision on a single book. This is about discovering who I am as a writer. So, one minute I’m on top of the world, the next I’m wondering if I have lost my ever-loving mind to not just take the advice and run with it. I mean, these are heavy-duty agents who could help my career even with the state that traditional publishing is in. But, then there’s that voice inside that says, “What profit it a man to gain the whole world but lose his soul?” I have to listen to myself, because somewhere in there, I know the story.
But because I can’t turn my flipping brain off after these insane 9-hour edit sessions that pull 1300 words from the book (yes, even shorter!) and leave me feeling like I’ve come out of a trance, God tends to speak to me when I’m asleep. (You may think it’s my intuition, but I intuitively know better, lol.)
Last night I had a remarkable dream. Last night I dreamed that I gave birth to a tiny baby all by myself. My husband and his best friend were there watching me, apparently knowing I was okay by myself, but I kept calling to the woman at the nurse’s desk outside my hospital room door, asking for help. She ignored me, none were in a hurry to come. The labor was quick but I gave birth to a baby so tiny I thought it must be stillborn and was very upset. But it wasn’t. The baby was fine, a boy, and seemed to get larger the longer I loved on him, even though his skin was a bit mottled and bluish.
Suddenly, the nurses realized I had done all this by myself and they were running in, giving the baby a little oxygen to help him pink up, and told me he was just fine. He grew so quickly into a toddler–and one who spoke as articulately as a four-year-old–that my husband and I were amazed. As I woke from this dream I already knew this tiny baby was my tiny book, and I had peace. I had birthed this short thing that seemed too small on my own, the help came after I thought I needed it and was so minimal, but that baby boy was just fine. More than fine. Now that’s what I call an Everything Is Gonna Be All Right dream.