SIGNS

I look for signs from the Universe to give me guidance and assurance—whether it's words, an animal, songs, or Nature.

For instance, whenever I watch the tennis grand slams on television, the camera usually pans to the well-known quote at the US Open: "Pressure is a privilege" and the one at the French Open:  "Victory belongs to the most tenacious."  These words inspire me to persevere with writing. 

Or, take the time I saw Elton John perform in Lexington, Kentucky.  When he sang "I'm Still Standing," the song reminded me to stay strong and keep submitting even when my manuscripts are rejected.  

Sara Wiseman, published author and a visionary teacher of spiritual intuition invites us to be open to all kinds of signs, especially those from Nature.  She says, "We are used to thinking about signs and synchronicities in the old way—that we will receive a message in language or symbol, such as a street sign, or a sentence in a book, or an email that comes at the exact right moment.  Often, the Universe sends us beautiful messages using Nature.  We come across something unexpected and beautiful and the answer to our question become clear.  We experience something unexpected and surprising, and we are jolted into clarity. " 

On that note, I once received an unusual and unexpected sign.  After submitting a query, I glanced down and noticed an oak leaf at my foot.  On the carpet under my desk.  Oak leaves symbolize strength and endurance.  

And one evening after ballet class, I spotted a vibrant rainbow.  It spanned the entire sky.  Rainbows symbolize good luck, happiness, health, hope, and optimism. 

Then, the other day a honey bee playfully buzzed around my grocery cart and darted inside my car.  (A week later while I was vacationing in Alaska, a honey bee rode on the windshield of our rental car.)  I've read that a bee appears as a spirit animal when dealing with a heavy burden.  The bee supports us in accomplishing the most difficult challenges and encourages us to be open to the infinite possibilities of the universe.  For me, the bee reminds me to listen to my intuition and my instincts when facing the difficult task of querying agents. 

And recently I read a post on Twitter/X written by an agent who tried to revive a dehydrated dragonfly.  A few hours later, a dragonfly hovered over my car.  Dragonflies represent change, moving out of our comfort zones, honoring our emotions, and reminds us to let our own light shine forward.

I don't force myself to be on the lookout for signs.  They find me.  Then it's up to me to understand why this sign has appeared and ask why it has appeared now.  I have to interpret the sign and apply it to my circumstances.  Signs don't come to me every day.  They appear when the Universe feels I need them the most.

So, I encourage you to keep an open mind.  The Universe is trying to reach you.  To teach you.  Recognize signs that may come your way, especially through Nature.  Wiseman says,  "If you are not sure how Nature is talking to you, why not take today, and simply ask for a sign?  And then, see what Nature brings you." 

 À la prochaine!

Messages from the Divine by Sara Wiseman

                                                                                                                                                        Photo: Paul Hanaoka

I CAN'T HELP IT 

I'm extremely organized.  Not a brag.  Just the facts.

But I never expect others to notice or to comment until one day at the grocery store a clerk surprised me by saying, "You're so organized."

When I go to the grocery store my list is printed in the order in which I will begin shopping, starting with the produce, then canned goods, cereals, snacks, cat food, household cleaners, meats, frozen foods and lastly the pharmacy needs. Each item goes into its designated bag in the cart: produce in the green bag, canned goods in the white one, meats go in blue and dairy in black.  These bags are put on the conveyor belt where a grocery clerk empties them and scans each item and the bagger puts them back into their assigned bags.  It may a little over the top, but it works for me.  

My organizational skills come in handy when packing for a vacation.  I use packing cubes to keep clothes folded and neatly stacked in the order in which I will wear them.  The outside of the cubes are

 

labeled with a short description of the contents.  This method helps me find outfits and makes getting dressed easier.  I won't have to think about what to wear.  A day before vacation, I check the weather forecast for our destination and make necessary changes to the packing if needed.

As you can imagine, the kitchen pantry is neatly organized.  Snacks are stored in large plastic tubs.  Other food items are placed in baskets.  This system keeps similar foods grouped together and makes finding foods much easier—though my husband questions why his breakfast foods (the oatmeal and tea bags) have to be in baskets.  I show him how nice the pantry looks.  He smiles and humors me.   

Open up a bathroom cabinet under the sink and you'll find baskets keeping hair products, toothpaste, soap, and makeup looking tidy.  Inside the bathroom closet, jeans are neatly folded on shelves, athletic wear is placed in bins, and shoes fit into cubbies.  In a large wicker basket under the bathroom counter, towels are folded and artistically arranged.

Take a peek in a bedroom closet and you'll find clothes arranged in color groups: whites, yellow, pink, navy, light blue, violet, maroon, and black.  

Occasionally, my kitchen desk is cluttered with mail, books, bags, and recipes and the guest room bed is strewn with stacks of clothing waiting to be packed for a vacation.  But as you can imagine, this disorder doesn't last long.  

I can't help it—being organized is just the way I am.  What surprises me is when others I hardly know notice.  Especially at the grocery store.  I never thought it was that obvious.  But, come on.  The color-coordinated grocery bags?  What a dead giveaway.  

 À la prochaine!

  

                                                                                                         photo by: Amat Martinez Vilà

ITTY-BITTY THINGS 

I confess I get annoyed when folks complain about itty-bitty things.   

This happens regularly on our neighborhood Facebook page.  Neighbors like to air their grievances online.  They fuss about stray cats wandering into their yards.  They're not happy about dogs pooing on their lawns or barking too much.  

Then, there's the complaint that happens every Fourth of July.  The fireworks.  

When neighbors or even adjacent neighborhoods set off fireworks, some people get riled up.  In this case, it's a no-win situation.  It's a national holiday and this is how some people like to celebrate.  I would like to tell the complainers to get over it.

It's a noisy holiday.  Everyone knows there will be fireworks and it's going to be loud for a couple of hours.  Maybe even a few days afterward.  So, I would say to those who get upset to find a way to handle it.  Try to ignore the noise by watching a funny television show or movie.  Wear earplugs to bed.  Or, invest in noise-cancelling headphones.  But don't complain about it.   

Overall, most people use our Facebook page to make announcements about a lost pet, neighborhood social activities, job services, and city news.  But there are a handful of people that need to complain publicly.  It's kind of jarring to read these comments online and it sucks the positivity right out of the air.  

You might be wondering why I don't address the grumbling.  

Oh, my dog ain't in that fight.  Don't get me wrong, I'd love to make suggestions, especially when it comes to animals.  I would say:  Pick up the poo and leave a sign in your yard to ask neighbors to clean up after their pets.  Find out whose dog is barking and have a calm discussion to come up with a solution.  Adapt a kinder attitude towards stray cats—they face the extremes of weather and the hazards and dangers of the neighborhood (speeding cars, coyotes, foxes, and raccoons).  Strays mainly seek food and shelter.

But my ideas would only start an argument.  Besides, complainers don't want a solution.  They just want to let off steam.  When they vent, they think it validates their complaint.  Complaining is fairly common and probably happens at least once a week.  So, I visit our Facebook page less often and I do my best to ignore the bitching.   

Whiners want their voices to be heard.  They're free to do so and our Facebook page is a convenient place to vent.  No one's going to stop them.  But what they fail to realize is their complaining solves nothing.  There are far more important issues to worry about.  And fireworks, loud dogs, dog poo and stray cats are only itty-bitty things. 

 À la prochaine!

                                                                                                                                                                          Photo: Simran Sood

LIGHTNING-FAST REJECTIONS

I am crushed whenever I receive a rapid rejection.  I'm talking about querying a manuscript and getting a rejection in a few hours after submitting it.  

This kind of a response feels personal even though I know it isn't.  It makes my goal of finding representation that more urgent.   

A speedy rejection gets me wondering:  How did the agent know so quickly that my submission was not for her?  Could she tell by looking at the title or word count?  Did she dislike the voice of the story?  The theme?  The message?  What made her decide so fast?  

Is it a magic yes-no radar some agents possess?  It must be because I've received a one-day reply from an agent who LIKED one of my manuscripts and wanted to read more of my work.  

The positive takeaway of a quick rejection lets me know right away this agent didn't connect with my work and I can go down my list and submit it to other agents.  Even still, it frustrates me.  I spend hours revising my manuscripts and the query letters and filling out the Query Manager forms.  So, receiving a rejection so quickly makes me feel like my writing and querying is a waste of time. 

However, I am grateful for the response.  In most cases, writers may have to wait up to 6 weeks or longer to hear back from an agent.  Sometimes, and quite often, an author will never hear back.  These days, no response means no thank you. In fact, many agents state on their guidelines that after X number of weeks the manuscript is no longer under consideration. 

So after the sting of a lightning-fast rejection wears off, I bounce back ready to submit again.  I'll peruse another agent's wish list to see if my manuscript might be something she's liked to see in her inbox.    

Easier said than done. 

Agents have to fall head over heels in love with the story and be able to sell it a publisher.  They have very specific openings on their lists for perfect fits.  Writers can get a sense of an agent's goals by studying wish lists and guidelines, but these merely hint at what the agent needs.  Writers don't know exactly what an agent's list looks like and how an agent wants to fill her list.    

The best thing a writer can do is try to make a very good match.  Take for instance the time I decided to send a manuscript that seemed to meet the needs of the agent.  My submission also included back matter for teachers (a good marketing approach) and sent it to an agent who had been an educator.

And the reply in less than two hours:  "Thank you for your submission. Unfortunately, my picture book list is quite full so I have to be extra picky and this one just isn't a fit. Please know that this has nothing to do with your concept or the quality of your writing - I love what you've done here and wish I could represent every good book to come across my desk.  Don't let this discourage you. Another agent may feel differently and you deserve to have an agent as passionate about your work as you are."

Super nice rejection.  Personalized.  But, thought I had made a very good match.  Evidently not good enough.  

Negativity started to get me down.  At this low point I searched the internet to find how to deal with rejection and found I found Powerful Positive Thinking, a website where anyone can send a wish into the universe.  As silly as it may seem to some, I like having the opportunity to visualize success.  It feels empowering.  Nearly every day I make a wish.  But that's not all.  The creators of Powerful Positive Thinking insist we take action.  So, after making a wish, I work on my queries and my agent list.  I polish my manuscripts.  And I try not to compare myself to others.    

I believe in the quality of my writing.  So does my husband and my critique partners.  But when life delivers a knock, I begin to doubt my abilities.  Then I remember a rejection (no matter how fast it's received) is the universe's way of saying keep going.  Keep learning.  Keep envisioning success.  Sure, it would be easier to give up writing to avoid the pain of rejection.  But then, I'd never know.  The next submission could be the perfect fit.     

 À la prochaine!  

"Giving up is the only sure way to fail." Gena Showalter, author

   

                                                                                                                                                         Photo: Valeria Elash

A PERFECT FACE

I've always had this thing about hair.  

Early 1970s I was sort of a hippie.  Not the pot-smoking, pill-popping teenager, just a hippie in terms of hair and clothes. Like most young folks then, I wore flannel shirts and hip hugger bell-bottom jeans.   

Then there was the hair.  As was the fashion, I had waist-length hair.  Besides it being the style, there was another reason why I grew it out. 

From grade school to middle grade, I had shoulder length hair that flipped up on the ends.  One day I wanted a change.  I walked to a neighborhood beauty school and came back home with a super short hairdo. (The hairdresser convinced me it would be cute)  But when my grandmother took one look at my hair, she told me I looked like a boy.  Her remark crushed me.  

So, at that moment I decided to let my hair grow long.  By the 10th grade (1970) my hair was long enough to pull back into a ponytail.  By the 12th grade it was well past my shoulders.  

Like most girls at that time, I wore my hair parted down the middle.  That style was popular and it made me feel pretty.  But when it was time for senior pictures, my mom thought it best to wear my hair off of my forehead clasped in a barrette on the top of my head.   

She told me, "Only people with perfect faces can wear their hair parted down the middle."  

I didn't understand why she would say something so hurtful and why she wanted me to change my hair style.  But I didn't stand up to her or argue.  I caved in, brushed my hair back without a middle part, and had my senior portrait snapped with a hair style I never wore again.    

The following year in college (with the hippie era was in full swing) I grew my hair even longer, down to my waist.  But a couple of years after graduating and working full-time, I found taking care of it too time-consuming.  Eventually, I asked a hairstylist cut off 12 inches of my hair.  I kept it short for years with the exception of growing it to my shoulders for my wedding.  When I turned forty, I began to wear a much shorter style.     

I still have this thing about hair.  And after having a baby, I noticed it was thinning out.  Now I rely on mousses, volumizing shampoos, thickening tonics, and hairspray to plump up the strands.  I even take a medicine to stimulate hair growth.   

Luckily, I have an amazing hairdresser who cares about me and how I feel about my hair.  My stylist TJ has impeccable taste when it comes to just about anything (clothes, interior design, cars, food).  I trust him and know he'll create a style that will look good on me.  After going to TJ, I have more confidence.  Lots more confidence than I had as a teenager.  Back then, I didn't have the guts to tell bullies to back off.  These people included school mates as well as family members who felt they could get away with saying cruel and thoughtless things to me.

If I could go back in time, I'd tell my younger hippie self: 

It's okay if family members don't like your hair style.  Some people say things without thinking about how it may affect you.  So, shut out the negative comments and wear your hair any way you want.  Wear it short.  Wear it long, straight, and parted down the middle.  You are unique.  Embrace that.   

And don't let anyone stop you from being you.   

À la prochaine!  

                                                                                                                                  photo: Prime Women

NUMB 

I become numb when people treat me unkindly.           

It's one thing if a business owner or a casual acquaintance is rude or thoughtless.  I don't have to deal with them again.  But when it comes to family, it's a trickier matter to deal with.  

Over the years my family does not include me in celebrations, holidays, and get togethers.  It never occurs to them to invite me. I learn about these gatherings from an aunt who lives hundreds of miles away.  

Though I could speak up and say WTF, there's very little that can be done about it.  I can't share how hurt that makes me feel.  I've tried.  No one wants to listen.  No one seems to care.  This has been going on for years.

I'm not the only one who has noticed. 

Close relatives and friends have commented about my family's lack of self-awareness and arrogance.  The weird thing is, my family has no clue.  They believe everything is peachy.  They live in their own worlds and are blind to the reality of how their actions affect others.  

I would guess most families have their share of differences but they probably get along and enjoy being around each other.  

When my husband and I drove to southern Indiana to watch the eclipse, we met some relatives of friends.  One aunt in particular told me because her family lives far away, they stay close by talking regularly on Zoom.  I told her how lucky she was and how it's exactly the opposite for me.  My family lives close by and we rarely speak to one another.  Such a contrast.  She reminds me how families ought to be.

My family's behavior used to make me feel small, invisible, and worthless.  I used to grieve, cry useless tears, and ask questions that could never be answered.  I'd end up in an angry, sad place.  

But living in that angry, sad place helped me to arrive at a happier place and I began to see more clearly.  One, I did not want to be around people who treated me unkindly.  Two, I wanted to associate with people who are more caring.   

I have finally reached a point where I grew tired of being ignored and unwelcomed.  That my feelings didn't matter.  That my opinions meant nothing and a difference of opinion was seen as threatening.  Being numb became a shield that kept hurtful actions at bay.   

My family situation is incredibly difficult to write about.  And to live with.  

No family is perfect, but some cause heartache and pain.   

Our bodies tell us pain is a signal that something is wrong.  Something is also wrong when there's emotional pain.  And when it gets too heavy to bear, it's time to act.  For me, being numb is a good defense mechanism.  Like a shot of Novocain, it keeps me from feeling pain.  It keeps me safe when others hurt me.  It keeps me away from that angry, sad place.  I can't change the behavior of others, but I can change how to react when darts of unkindness are flung my way.  I will deflect them, and I will feel nothing, no nothing at all.

À la prochaine!  

"This writer is of the firm belief that our tears become holy in the form of ink on a page.  Once we have spoken our saddest story, we can be free of it."  Taylor Swift

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NEVER KNOWING WHY 

I get bummed out when I don't have the answer as to why something went wrong.  Not knowing eats at me.  I need an explanation.  

For instance:  Last year I submitted a story to a writing contest that I'd been entering for over fifteen years.  My work had always won an award.  This time my entry didn't even garner an honorable mention.  I had submitted (IMO) a prize-worthy piece.  The hardest thing for me was not knowing why my story didn't resonate with the judge.   

In contrast, I knew exactly what went wrong with the 2023 PB Party contest.  Shortly after I submitted my manuscript, I realized the plot was weak and the writing was subpar.  But it was too late to do anything about it.  Somehow, I had been blind to its faults.  The entry wasn't good and a golden opportunity had been lost.  

But later in the year, another opportunity cropped up.  

Literary agent Stephan Fraser offered a competition called the Encouragement Fund in which three children's writers would be awarded a cash gift to be used towards their writing careers.  To enter you needed to:  have had a children's book traditionally published, submit a cover page, and write an essay to explain why you're entering the contest and what you'd use the prize money for.

Though my book was published by a small press, the contest sponsor verified that it met the qualifications.  Then, I wrote an essay to show why I needed encouragement and what the funding would be used for.  I read the piece to my husband, who always points out problems and offers helpful suggestions.  This time, when I finished reading the piece to him, he was silent.  In a good way.  He said, "It was perfect.  I wouldn't change a thing."  Coming from him, this news was assuring and gave me the confidence to enter the contest.  I HAD written a damn good essay.

I assumed the judges would check Amazon author pages to be sure the applicants' books were traditionally published.  After seeing my book information was accurate, I sent in the cover page along with my essay.  According to the rules, the judging would take place mid-January.  

But by then, I hadn't heard a word.  That's when I got this strange feeling to check Amazon.  I found my book title was now misspelled.  So weird.  It looked fine before the contest deadline.  

Something was fishy.  There could have been a computer glitch with Amazon, but I wondered if my publisher had been involved (we have a strained relationship). She has control over the book details on Amazon and has made my book unavailable for purchase.  She may have been contacted by the contest chair to verify the information about my book.  I don't have proof and it's not nice to accuse, but my book had been online since 2017.  How can it be that the title had been correct for six years and then get messed up during the judging period?  I will never know how this happened.  But when I contacted my agent about the misspelling, she got in touch with my publisher, and then the title was miraculously corrected.  

The first of February rolled around, and there was still no word about the winners.  Then mid-February I checked the agent's Twitter messages.  The decision had been made.  The agent chose three woman to receive the prize.  I tried to figure out why my entry was not selected.  Were the other essays more compelling?  Were the writers' needs greater than mine?  Was my book disqualified because its title was misspelled and that it could no longer be purchased online?  

My essay was written with deep sincerity.  It was evocative.  It had the power to transport and anchor the reader to a place where hope and desire stirred the heart of a writer.  If I lean on my intuition, I feel that the judging was tough.  It may have been a close call.  I take heart in feeling this vibe.  But for now, I have no choice other than to accept the loss without knowing the reason why. 

  

À la prochaine!