READ THESE BOOKS/Trying to Make the Good Moments Stick

As writers, and as humans in general (presuming writers fall into that category), we tend to hold on to the negative moments, the defeats, the upset (the one bad review amidst ten good reviews *crosses fingers and prays for this ratio*), while the good ones -- the things we thought nearly impossible but strove for and accomplished-- seem way more slippery and fleeting, somehow devalued, or at least harder to internalize and hold on to.

It's the human condition. In buddhism, it's referred to as Samsara.

I know more and more, as I embark on this sometimes-fickle journey toward publication, it is important to take the time to bask in the good things. I'm not good at it. At all. Instead, I'm always quickly thinking of what I didn't do, what more I could have done, and how much better I should have done it.

So, I'm making this post to memorialize for all the world (read, me) to remember: whatever the sales numbers, whatever less-than-glowing reviews the future may hold, here are four remarkable things that have happened already to The Pull of Gravity so far, and, by extension, to me.

As they say, if I die tomorrow, I should die happy*:

1. My family and a few friends read it and liked it a lot, and believed in my writing and the story (if you are amongst them, thank you);

2. My agent did the same;

3. The remarkable Frances Foster of Farrar Straus Giroux read it and loved it and then fought to acquire the manuscript;

4. KL Going and Francisco X. Stork, two of the young adult authors I admire most in the world, read it and liked it enough to give me a blurb knowing their names will be on its cover. That last part humbles me to no end.

And if you have not read The Liberation of Gabriel King or Marcelo in The Real World, and their many other magnificent books, you should. READ THESE BOOKS.

So, here's the deal. I'm walking away from the computer for an hour or so to internalize and really appreciate the good. Plenty of time for all the negative stuff later on...

and for burpees. Ugh. Yes, those too. ;)

-gae

*prefers not to die tomorrow.

Conquer and fail, but more conquer than fail.

So, this weekend I squeezed on my wetsuit (until now, I have only ever worn this in my own backyard pool - don't ask...), neoprene booties and a beanie cap, and, yes, special gloves, got up at 6:00 am and trekked off to join up with a group of water-loving strangers to do my first-ever "open-water" swim despite talk of mating horseshoe crabs, and water temperatures that hovered easily below sixty.

I didn't chicken out which was huge; and I swam over a mile in much harder conditions than I am used to in my, and the local "Y," pool.

The fact that I did it made me feel good. Although, I was admittedly frustrated with my performance as well. I did not, on Day One, make it as far as the rest of the group, all the way out to the buoy. I had trouble breathing -- getting the pace of my breath -- in the cold with all the tight straps around my neck. I had to keep stopping to catch my breath and, at one point, I ended up separated from the group and my anxiety got the best of me. I turned back probably an eighth of a mile short of that buoy. All the way back, I asked, "Is this a metaphor? Will I stop short in my life of where I want to go?"

I came back half proud, and half defeated.

Day Two I showed up, knowing this is half the battle. My hope was slightly restored. Out I went with the group; quickly I fell behind. Still, this time, I made it all the way out to the buoy, still struggling with both my speed and my breath. Still disappointed, but happier.

On the way back, a large swan started following me, a little too closely for comfort. I know, I know: Cool! pretty!, you're thinking. But those things are viscious, I tell you.



At first I thought maybe the swan was a good omen, but the faster I tried to swim, the faster he/she followed, leaving me only more exhausted and breathless. I decided I could do without the symbolism, and was relieved when he/she finally turned away. I'll swim on my own, thank you.