“I’M GOING TO WRITE A BOOK!”
I was home alone, except for my dog, when I shouted it. A goal — a dream, really — had been handed to me by an editor at Ave Maria Press, the publishing house that reviewed my book proposal and invited me to write the book I pitched.
A miracle. Truly.
I screamed and danced with my dog, who wasn’t as excited as I was, and I called my mom but she didn’t answer, ’cause she was in a meeting.
In the quiet that followed my response to the news, I sat at the kitchen table, suddenly aware of what the news meant:
I have to write a book.
It was joy and fear, probably like becoming a parent, or something. Like, I want this, this commitment I am getting into, but I tremble humbly and am periodically terrified when I consider its magnitude — when I consider that I am being entrusted with this, that I am responsible for something that is going to affect people.
It is so scary. And it is so exciting.
As of Christmas week, the book’s first draft is done. The work, however, isn’t. I am in round one now of revisions, and am to turn a second draft in on Jan. 13. What is important to me now, as I tweak what I have so far and add to it, too, is this:
the right words.
The words readers need to read to get what they need when they read it.
Every day between now and my next deadline, I will be in the book. My hope is that while I am in the book, you will be in prayer. I will start a novena tonight, to St. Francis de Sales — patron saint of journalists and writers — for the right words as I write. If you’ll join me, in prayer generally, or by committing to a novena, I will be eternally grateful.