“Anything worth doing is worth doing badly,” right? On that note, with Chesterton’s quote clearing the way, welcome to my “still-a-work-in-progress” website. Consider it an adventure in the making, a project of potential. The point of these pages is to share my other works in progress – books, illustrations, essays – as well as revive my original blog “Fly A Lead Duck”, which, ironically, didn’t get off the ground. One might say it flapped. It flopped.
Life happens. No worries. Move on.
Life is a journey, and the curvy road of my life started on a dirt path pounded down by dairy cows. When I was a barefoot kid, I’d hike the dusty lane (sidestepping cow pies) and head out to the pasture. The Holsteins hardly gave me a look as I climbed the hills to the place of my favorite preteen memory. A loose-barked birch tree, toppled by lightening, offered a branch. Nature’s bench. I remember looking up through the leaves and to the big blue sky beyond. I don’t think I thought about too much – as a kid I had no plans, no problems, besides, these were pondering pastures. Mostly I listened. The robin’s trill, the cattle’s lazy mooing, the summer breeze rattling the birch leaves above and around. Here there was room for wondering.
There was a time when I spent Friday afternoons before the Blessed Sacrament, in much the same way. Being present, not really thinking any big thoughts or wrestling with issues or having an agenda. Being still in the silence, and wondering.
I wondered about adoption first, and about finishing college, and about the Eucharist and miracles.
My first book Giorgio’s Miracle came as a whisper to me while at Adoration. I had no real writing experience or training, so had no clue how to start or when or where. I considered a very simple theme, character line, and the beginning, the middle and the end.
And mostly I wondered when I’d ever have a chance to begin it.
At the time my household was supercharged with boys, home business, home schooling, and then it happened that my mom had four strokes and needed someone to help her get back on her feet. So, I stayed with her for a week, and in the bits of the day when she napped, or when a home health nurse visited, I’d slip into the back bedroom and make myself write twenty words. Sometimes I wrote fifty. And because I had no kids to chase during the day, that meant I could stay up late, and write into the early morning hours. By the end of the week, I had nine hundred words. Surely not enough for a book, but it was a start.
Sometimes we begin a new journey, not sure of ourselves, not practiced, not ready, but we know the road of life isn’t a straight shot. Even so, we go. Here’s my site, ready or not.
