Faith

As the daughter of an atheist, I know how elusive faith can be. You can't force it. You can't argue it into someone's heart. You can have a little faith or a lot of faith, but if you have NO faith, the chasm between none and a little is a far deeper divide than between a little and lots.

So it has been with my summer. For a variety of reasons--the economy (feeding a family of six creatively on less), gas prices (trying to drive less, but there's only so much I can do with that one, especially since my Oldest Daughter chose a college an 11-hour drive from here--and we must get all her crap from Here to There), a looming college tuition bill, personal issues, and so on--things in life have seemed less steady for me than they have in a while. I always toss it up to the universe, "I'm unafraid to work hard." And usually things work out. But it's the FAITH that's been elusive. That still, certain voice that comes to me in the quiet with a serenity and peace. THAT voice . . . well, where the hell has it been?

As an optimist, it's not like I haven't tried to wave some sunny fairy dust over everything, but like forcing faith, it's not a simple thing. And it was only natural it would eventually trickle to the writing.

I turned in two manuscripts this summer. I am delighted with both. And now I'll be tweaking them in rewrites. I feel a huge sense of joy opening the Magickeepers file knowing where it's going to go--from this level to THIS one. But soon I will be in proposal stage. Every writer is in that stage at some point or another, in some fashion of another. I will be in the What's My Next Step stage. In my What Shiny New Idea Holds Promise stage. I may EVEN be in my Maybe I Want to Go Back to University and Do Something Else stage that occasionally breaks through in my life.

I don't know how it is in "real" jobs. But the one or two "real" jobs I had, I went to work, I worked at the same job--even when I got promotions as an editor, I was still editing--I collected my paycheck, I saw the same people, etc. Being a journeyman writer is different. It's always an up and down thing, filled with uncertainty, with periodic pronouncements of doom--NO ONE IS READING, the wise publishing gods say.

It's a profession that requires faith. In your book, in your ideas, in yourself, in some Holy Grail of being published, landing an agent, finishing your novel, selling through, having something that editors want--we're ALL in some way or another riding a wave of faith.

I don't know that everyone feels this way. I don't know that anyone talks about it--at least maybe not in the same terms. But I feel, for me, the only way I survive is by nurturing the still, small voice inside. I sustain it through my blog, through writing friends who "get" the journey, through getting some sleep (AMAZING how much better I feel when that happens). And through waiting for the voice to recover from bouts of ennui. Knowing it must still be there, just resting, waiting for the next Big Thing to excite her.

So there we are today, with my cup of coffee, my Demon Baby yelling at me, and my Ravel playing on my iPod.

Thoughts?

The Penitent Man

Someone I adore wrote to me recently about the fear of sharing his work. It holds us back sometimes, the fear of putting our stuff out there. Rejection is a sure thing on the way to an agent or a sale. Once we're published, it's reviews--good and bad. Criticism.

Sometimes we delete whole works with the press of a button. I ripped up many a short story. I shred the sheets of looseleaf (ahh, those days before computers), tears in my eyes. I suck. I really do. I berated myself mercilessly.

We tell ourselves that. I know, for me, I have published many books . . . but there's always the book that's a reach, that I am not sure I am writer enough to pull off. I'm not smart enough, talented enough. I don't have enough coffee!!!!

I told my friend, we need to be like Indiana Jones. My favorite scene in all the movies was the one where Indiana took the leap of faith.

The penitent man will pass.

That's what he whispered. Hand on his heart. Short of breath. Heart racing. Put his foot out over that chasm. And there the bridge appeared.

In my real life, I like to think I am a penitent woman. Too many coincidences have occurred in my life that I take as a sign of the divine. I am blessed a thousandfold. I pray--unceasingly most days. My candles flicker for friends in pain or struggling. For ME when I am struggling. They flicker in a sign of solidarity. Of faith. Of compassion. I pray for Tibet. For peace. For my children.

As writers, the penitent also pass. We have faith in our work. We have faith in the friend who offers to read our work and help us. That we are entrusting our work to someone who cares. Someone who wants us to succeed, not bring us down.

Take a leap today. With me. Put your stuff out there. Write a query. Share a chapter with someone you trust.

The penitent will pass. A chalice awaits.

Thoughts?

And to my friend . . . you know who you are. Have faith.

Faith

In my 2008 Red Dress Ink release, Freudian Slip, God is a woman, Albert Einstein is a cosmic social worker, and every mortal is struggling in their human journey. My main characters, Kate and Julian, each face the greatest challenges of their lives. Kate must overcome grief and the collapse of the world as she once knew it after 9/11; Julian must confront the fact that, in reviewing his life, he now sees he was a total a**hole. And considering his life is in the balance, and he could travel to either heaven or hell, he has very little time to contemplate just which direction he's headed--he's been shot and is dying.

And in looking at the manuscript of this book today, I realized this theme is in every book I've ever written--and possibly every book ever written by anyone:

Hebrews 11:1 Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

I don't mean in a God-sense, though that is sometimes there. I don't mean in a Bible sense. I don't mean in a Buddhist sense (and most Buddhist are not theists so . . .). I mean in a sense of FAITH, the very irrational decision to believe in something you cannot see. I mean in terms of this definition of the word:

Belief that is not based on proof.

I can go back to every book I have ever written and the actual heart of the book is that moment when the main character presses forward despite all evidence to the contrary that they should give up. They proceed in blind fath, on hope, on the evidence of things not seen.

In Spanish Disco, Cassie Hayes knows she is likely never to get her hands on the sequel to the American literature classic Simple Simon, written by the very unbalanced Roland Riggs, but she proceeds on faith that perhaps within him, the sequel lies, unwritten but ready to emerge if only the right editor can coax it out of him.

In Diary of a Blues Goddess, the character of Nan sums up the journey of the heartbroken characters in the book: If God takes you to it, he'll take you through it. When I think of Dominique, the drag queen, whose journey from gay boy to trannie was frought with being disowned, with his father punching him in the face and breaking his nose, it was still a journey of faith. Of the unrealistic hope that despite his "differentness," compounded by race and loss, that he could evolve into a beautiful queen and win a prince.

In The Roofer, Ava must find within her the faith to believe that there is life away from the Westies in Hell's Kitchen, that there is something beyond the concrete playground of violence where she grew up. That faith is symbolized by the painting on her wall--found at a flea market. She and Tom hung this horse painting as a sign of what they each believed was possible--a farm, a world away from the spector of their father and murder. Somewhere inside Ava, that faith remained even if it was barely a glimmer throughout most of the book.

My desk is a vertiable altar of faith in something. Buddha statues mingle with Catholic candles to St. Jude, the patron saint of hopeless causes. And that, as I look at the candle flickering, is the ultimate statement. A Patron of Hopeless Causes. And yet . . . we hope.

Thoughts? Is the theme of faith part of your work? Your life?