Positively Lucky

In the past, I had a horrible tendency toward pointing out the things that hurt. My fingers aching from typing too much. My brain hurting from thinking too much. My stomach hurting from stressing too much. Not only would I point out the things that hurt, but I would point out the things that needed improving, like my microwave and my Spanish and my bedroom walls. The things that went wrong, like my attempt at downloading software or my inability to have a doctor call me back or to find decent parking. I'd complain about all the ways I was unlucky in life and love, of which are too pitiful to burden the web space that I am taking up here.

Well, no more. It’s a new year, and I am purging the negativity! I am going to be all about praising what needs praised and gratifying what needs gratitude and pointing out the good things about lucky, lucky me.

Because, believe me, I am lucky. Maybe not as lucky as West Virginian Jack Whittaker, who won a $315 million Powerball jackpot on Christmas Day back in 2002. But I AM lucky. I wrote one manuscript. ONE. And I was lucky enough to come across the website of a man named Harvey Stanbrough, a poet and Pulitzer Prize nominee AND the professional editor who, after reading an excerpt of my novel that I emailed him, took on the job of editing my entire manuscript AND THEN asked me if I minded him showing it to his publisher. Of which there was no luck involved. I was just smart enough to answer NO, I absolutely do not mind. Because then Central Avenue Press was wonderful enough to say, “Let’s make a deal.”

I’m an avid fan of Oprah, who says she doesn’t believe in luck. And, normally, I’d say she is SO right. But the odds of having your first manuscript taken seriously are astronomical, especially when you are nothing more than a hobby writer, someone who didn’t have enough sense or confidence to take your deep-seeded need to write seriously. And therefore write your novel over the course of SEVEN years, locking yourself in closets ‘til 3 in the morning and writing during day-job meetings and during weekends and between feeding children and changing diapers and all the other business of raising a family. I haven’t a degree in English or the likes. I haven’t a career in writing. I didn’t even have a writer’s group nor a writer FRIEND to guide me. I was JUST lucky. And I need to keep that profound fact at the forefront of my mind at all times.

Making New Year’s resolutions or big, weighty pronouncements isn’t really my style… except when I’m pronouncing that I WILL be published. (That one actually looks to be happening.) But I am resolving to try being more positive. I've decided to take after my kids who, in an effort to stay positive (or remain in Mom’s good graces), are constantly telling me about their best qualities. (The kids that know how to talk in complete sentences, anyway.) Let me give you a sampling. Antonia, who’s eight, in her own words is good at “origami, drawing, soccer, making paper chains, yo-yoing and beading.” Jonah, who’s five, thinks he’s good at “light switches, stapling, putting on his coat, wiggling, begging, and not catching fishes.” I must wholeheartedly agree. Since the two youngest can’t speak for themselves, I will do it for them because they, too, are good at many things. Emma, who’s 21 months old, is good at doling out Cheerios to people, putting her hat on every morning, saying please, throwing things into the trash can, and hiding keys. Kyra, who’s nine months old, is already good at eating the Cheerios that Emma doles out to her, smiling on demand, pooping out of her diaper, eating paper, and humming while she eats the paper.

So yes, I am blessed or lucky or fortunate, whatever name you’d like to give it. Not only do I have a novel under contract, but I have half a baseball team with players that are uniquely qualified at something, even if it’s something as simple as “not catching fishes.” And now I can add “acknowledging good fortune” to the list of things that I am good at.