About grownups pursuing dreams

All grownups had a few when they were kids. They detailed them in their journals and bragged with you're-gonna-say-you-knew-me-when confidence to their buddies in backyard forts.

Keep your eyes steady and focused and then, go! Chase 'em!

One of the most shocking things I've discovered about grownups is that a lot of us give up the pursuit of our dreams! Even the ones we held tight as kids. But whyyy? Read this with a British nanny or American drill sergeant accent (whichever is more effective for you): C'mon! Pick up your bones! I ought to give you a kick in the behind and say, "Go on now!"

For whatever reason, some choose to let life get in the way. They take an easier, safer path. Fear of failure, fear of rejection. So many shoulda-woulda-coulda regrets swirling around inside of you, grownups!

What a thrill it is to meet those who are actively chasing their dreams, from sleep-deprived college students to retired grandpas with better-late-than-never determination. Odds are piled high against them but they skip their favorite TV shows and forgo fun nights out on the town to work and work with solid hope that one sweet day, they’ll achieve their dreams. Some overcome major hurdles like health scares and family, financial and personal woes that make me want to sniffle, sniffle, sniffle and cheer, cheer, cheer. If they don’t make it, at least they tried their damnedest.

It’s...so....inspiring.

About ten months ago, I wrote the last few words of the first draft of my middle-grade novel manuscript and clicked save. Finishing a marathon couldn’t have felt as good. I packed a few (okay, I admit, one dozen) copies in my suitcase (I didn't know what the heck to expect so I loaded up just in case I was a breakout discovery. The next Judy Blume? Perhaps!), cashed in my SkyMiles and flew out to a swanky Los Angeles hotel for the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators annual conference.

Then I arrived.

Cue Shy Girl inside of me. "Oh, I'm practically crashing the party of talented authors and illustrators," I told myself. "I'm going to slink back to Michigan now so I can curl up with my MacBook behind skyscrapers of books. Mmm kay?"

The first night, after I unloaded the reams of paper from my suitcase, I ordered the priciest pizza I've ever had in my life. "What is there, caviar in the tomato sauce or something?" I asked the room service guy who fake giggled and said, "Welcome to L.A., miss."

I sat on the patio adjacent to my room, pretended that the pizza was the grandest ever and felt alone. Of all of the business trips I've jetted around for, this one felt different. I was twelve years old again, insecure about everything from my frizzy hair to my giant teeth to the way I say my own name (yes, it's true. Sometimes, it comes out as Josy or Joey. I'm weird) to, gulp, my writing.

But then something happened the next morning when the conference started. I talked to people. Not all of the 1,300 accomplished and aspiring writers and illustrators but a lot of them and you know what? They were ALL energetic, upbeat and happy to be among fellow creators and books-loving folk. So nice! So encouraging to the newbies!

That's when I met Sarah Perry, a children’s and YA author and librarian extraordinaire, and together we were slightly star struck by the big-name authors but played it cool (or tried to) while chatting with them. It was like being at the Oscars and hanging out backstage with the superstars. The kid lit community version, of course. It was awesome and oh so inspiring. There were stories from Coleen Murtaugh Paratore who wrote 14 books in six years with a full-time job during most of it and three kids. And genius artist E.B. Lewis told us he often works from 10 pm to 6 am in his studio, fighting sleepiness by talking to an artist friend via Bluetooth all the while. And Gordon Korman (whose seventh grade writing assignment turned into his first published novel) said he looks for new ideas every minute of every day.

I returned home fueled up on inspiration, encouragement, determination and Starbucks. I completely restructured the plot of my manuscript, changed the tense and made some switch-a-roos on the main characters’ personalities. About 50 percent of the manuscript was scrapped and rewritten. Daunting. Overwhelming. Exhausting.

When I finished Draft 2, I realized that it still wasn't good enough. Then I wrote Draft 3. I finished on New Year's Eve. Yup. Seriously. I finally shared it with my writer friends and they gave me wonderful feedback and ideas to polish it up. After a deep breath, I mailed it to a few agents. The polite, semi-encouraging no thank yous and a few form letters plus an incredibly encouraging conversation with middle-grade author Karen Day formed a nodging in my side I couldn't ignore.

Hey, Draft 4, let's get busy.

I may still have several miles to go but I actually don't mind that at all. It's making me happy, seriously. Sometimes, I loathe it but that fades fast. I really can't imagine life without writing now. (I just cracked up thinking someone will read this and think, "yeesh, what are ya married to it or something?") I’ll do my damnedest. I have to. I’m a grownup who's not giving up on my dreams.

Cue the Mary Tyler Moore Show theme song and slap me five. Here goes... :)