Stuck City
Pretty much everybody gets stuck at some point.
You need to sort your clothes closet.
You need to walk more.
You need to improve your attitude.
Without a doubt, you know the benefits. You’re desperate for the blue ribbon. But you keep procrastinating, excusing, forgetting.
Until change stares you in the face for the last time.
Believe me, as a writer, I strangle myself with self-imposed deadlines, but because no editor is frantically emailing me, I slide.
For what it’s worth, here’s the tale of my stuckness.
In 2014 I was scheduled to be a guest blogger for noted children’s author Tara Lazar. She started a blog that featured Inspiration Month where other authors offered rousing advice to motivate writers who felt stalled.
Back then, my debut Sweet Moon Baby: An Adoption Tale was soaring. But by the time my blog turn for her arrived, things had changed.
It was out of print.
My agent was gone.
I faced an avalanche of rejections.
Panicked, I asked writing friends about my 2014 assignment. “Be positive,” they urged. I wrote a peppy post, but the easy boosterism made me feel guilty.
Then I remembered an education professor who explained inspiration was not magic dust to sprinkle around the classroom. He said, “Share what you know and show who you are. Some kids won’t care, but for some it will ignite the sparks to inspire themselves.”
I deleted my 2014 draft post and started over, referring to The Little Engine That Could, the story my mother read to me repeatedly. Having reached the mountaintop, I wrote:
My engine flew over the edge, crashed at the bottom of the canyon, and someone spray-painted LOSER on my caboose. But you can write down there, too. I am.
500+ followers commented. They appreciated my honesty and felt encouraged for themselves and for me.
Success. Folks dug deep and found inspiration.
But instead of following my own advice, I quit writing.
Eventually, though, I re-read those kind comments. Deciding they might be right, I started revising a dust-collecting manuscript about Nancy Pearl, respected as a librarian’s librarian. In the 1980s we’d worked in a Tulsa bookstore and become friends. After moving to Seattle, Nancy’s career blossomed as a library sensation, author, critic, and TV host. Successful though she was, we both knew her childhood had been shaken by challenges. The story had universal appeal for any child who felt different.
On a self-imposed dare, I applied to Jane Yolen’s Picture Book Boot Camp, certain I wouldn’t be accepted. Jane is a legend in publishing, so I knew she’d see through my application and reject me.
Shoot. I was accepted.
In 2015, our group gathered in her living room for 4 days of writing. I chatted with the day’s speaker, a librarian, and asked if she knew my friend Nancy Pearl. She did. “I’m writing a picture book about her,” I said.
Suddenly Jane, who had overheard me, asked, “Why don’t I know about this? That will sell.”
No one, absolutely no one, wants to disappoint Jane Yolen. I returned home and interviewed Nancy repeatedly. Years of drafts flew by like time-lapsed calendar pages. I could not make it work. I wasn’t writing a story; I was building a word wall and banging my head against it.
But I couldn’t quit this time.
Nancy was waiting.
Jane was waiting.
500+ followers were waiting.
Down in that canyon, instead of quitting, I realized I needed a sabbatical from words.
Because the 1950s are the setting for Nancy’s childhood, I went to a fabric store and pretended to design her bedroom and clothes.
Horse-print throw pillow.
Chenille bedspread.
Plaid and floral shirtwaist dresses.
Trims and buttons.
The story unfolded in my heart like yards of gingham. I saw it. I felt it. I tried again.
Library Girl sold in 2019 and launched, beautifully illustrated by Sheryl Murray, in 2022.
Never quit. Go on sabbatical from feeling stuck. Maybe a fabric store won’t work, but discover a place to set your frustration free.
Once and for all.
And out of nowhere, when you’ve given your tail-chasing self a break, your potential will unroll itself.
