It’s hard to believe now as I write this, snuggled into a booth at my neighborhood coffee-haunt that just this past weekend I was cruising down Kingman Blvd. on my bike.
I’m hardly surprised now after living in Iowa for nearly nine years by the fickle weather that blows across the plains. Perilous climate predictions aside, given a 60 degree day in late February, I’m more than happy to don a pair of shorts, even if only for a day and reap the benefits of some extra vitamin D.
Frankly it’s a welcome relief to see the snowdrifts that bolster the sides of the road from November to April slowly shrink, the snowmen in neighboring yards morph into abstract sculpture.
These days when life often appears an odd amalgamation of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and an Orwellian dystopia, there is comfort in the simple fact that winter will eventually fade into spring. That at least, is a fact you can trust.
“If it’s not sipping from a tincture labeled ‘Drink me,’ then it’s sending that bottle out into the world with the message, ‘Read me.’ ”
And trust I have learned, is a supplement that writers and illustrators need in large doses. Every story is an exercise in faith. If it’s not sipping from a tincture labeled Drink me, then it’s sending that bottle out into the world with the message, Read me.
When we act upon that seed of an idea that’s been germinating in our minds, we embark on our own journey down the rabbit hole full of plot twists and outlandish characters and paths with no clear destination. There is little certain about the road to publication.
This coming spring, as I prepare one story for submission and begin anew with another, I am reminded how I started down this road in the first place. It’s a journey that began with a single conviction– a belief in the fact that this is what I am meant to do.
It’s a simple truth. A truth as strong and real as the warm breeze against my skin on a February afternoon.