Yesterday my son saw a bug on the window. He was sure it was a slug. He even went outside to get a closer look. Definitely a slug--that is, until it flew away.
"Mom! It's a flying slug!"
It made me think of how many times I think I'm doing something right, and then things don't turn out the way I want. Kind of like a flying slug.
I've had a lot of flying slugs this year. The editor at Penguin asked to see my full manuscript, and then never read it. You know, Alvor, the book that's been out for the last three months- that manuscript. At the time I was totally thrilled at the prospect of sneaking into a big house without an agent. It was my ticket into the publishing world. Everything was going to be perfect.
He still hasn't read my manuscript.
Oh, and then there's getting an agent- that flying slug. So far I've just been through a practice round of rejections. Have no fear, I'm gearing up to send out more queries to the unsuspecting agents. I have more than one story- and more than one chance to still make it.
But even when I thought things were going to go one way, and they went a totally different direction, it didn't mean things went wrong. Just different. And who knows, maybe in the end everything will even look like it turned out better than I planned.
After all, I think I'd rather be able to fly than only slink around in puddles of mucus. Maybe mistakes are a path of their own. Maybe when things don't go the way we want them to, it's because we were never meant to stay on the ground forever- we were meant to fly.