Light Bulb Successes

The waiting is killing me. The waiting for acceptances (or rejections) for two books I am currently circulating among publishers and agents.

Not that waiting is anything new. Or rejections, either. Both are normal parts of writing for publication.

According to Jack Canfield in Snoopy's Guide to the Writing Life:

Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind and Dr. Seuss's first children's book were each rejected at least 25 times before they found a publisher. 

Louis L'Amour received 350 rejections before he made his first sale; and

Jack London had it even worse, receiving 600 rejection slips before selling his first story.

I've sold over a dozen articles and devotions and one non-fiction book, so I'm doing better than many at this stage in my writing career. Still, waiting is hard, and rejections can be crushing. So to keep things in perspective, I think of each rejection as a light bulb success.

Thomas Edison did not invent the light bulb, but he did make it practical. He tried thousands of filaments before he found one that burned long enough to be commercially viable. He could have given up at number 10, or 100, or 1000, but he didn't see those tests as failures. He saw them as successes because each "failure" ruled out another filament that didn't work and moved him that much closer to the one that would.

I want that attitude. Each rejection is a success rather than a failure. By ruling out another publisher that isn't perfect for my book, the rejection gets me one submission closer to the publisher that is.

These two quotes attributed to Thomas Edison explain why I refuse to give up.

Many of life's failures are experienced by people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.

Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time.

And this doesn't just apply to inventors and writers. It can work for you, too.

Yes, waiting is hard. But I'm continuing to write while I wait for that e-mail or telephone call offering me the contract that will make me the next J.K. Rowling. Because all my rejections are light bulb successes.
 

God's Tapestry

I love Autumn in the Midwest, but words can't explain why. So I'll try pictures, instead.

© 2008 by Kathryn Page Camp

© 2010 by Kathryn Page Camp

© 2010 by Kathryn Page Camp

© 2010 by Kathryn Page Camp

© 2009 by Kathryn Page Camp

© 2009 by Kathryn Page Camp

© 2009 by Kathryn Page Camp

© 2010 by Kathryn Page Camp

Summer's Over

After school let out on Friday, Roland met me at the marina for our last sail of the season. Fortunately, the weather cooperated. It was also beautiful on Sunday, as we gazed with longing at the sailboats out on the water while we were stuck at the dock taking our sails off. But Freizeit is scheduled to move to her winter home (in the marina parking lot) on Saturday, and, since only one of us is "retired," we have to get things done when we can.

It was a disappointing sailing season in some ways, primarily because the month-long cruise we had planned refused to fit itself into our busy schedule. Then there were the always-to-be-expected days when the weather didn't cooperate or we had other commitments. Still, it was a fun summer.

And I don't mind that it's over for this year. Putting the boat to bed is a sign of the changing seasons, and the variety that comes with those seasons is one of the things I love about living in the Midwest. In fact, Fall may be my favorite season (at least while I'm in it).

More about that next week.

Dancing at Work

One of AOL's teasers linked to videos of people caught by security cameras while they were dancing. The first man was at work, and he appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. Since dancing can be a great stress reliever and people who are stressed out are less productive, I approve of dancing at work.

For reasons that will become clear later, the clips reminded me of a fairy tale I heard as a child. Here is a blog-length version.

* * *

Once upon a time, a king lived in a castle with his wife and three daughters. After his wife died without bearing him a son, he decided to choose someone to succeed him. He told his three daughters that he would give his kingdom to the one who loved him most. Then he asked each to describe how much she loved him.

"I love you like diamonds," said the eldest.

"That's pretty good," thought the king.

"I love you like pearls," said the second.

Now the king had a dilemma, because how do you choose between diamonds and pearls? But maybe he wouldn't have to.

He turned to his youngest, and favorite, daughter. "How much do you love me?"

She threw her arms around his neck and said, "I love you like meat loves salt."

"WHAT?" he roared as he flung her away from him. "How dare you. Leave my kingdom right now and never return."

She tried to explain, but he wouldn't let her. Knights dragged her away and left her outside a hut in a neighboring kingdom.

Fortunately, the family who lived there took her in. After a while, she met and married the prince of that kingdom. When his father died, the girl, who was now a wife and mother, became queen. She had everything she wanted, except . . .

Except her father's love.

Then one day her father came to visit the neighboring kingdom. He didn't know his daughter was queen, and she wouldn't let her husband tell him.

The queen threw a feast for her father and his companions but begged off from attending, claiming that she was dealing with a great sorrow.

At the meal, a heavily veiled servant put a bowl of soup in front of the older king. Taking a bite, he nearly spit it out. "This is terrible," he thought. But he ate it so he wouldn't offend his host and hostess.

Then the main course arrived, and the same servant gave him a platter of meat cooked until it had only a hint of red left in it. Since that was just the way he liked it, he dug in eagerly. And gagged.

"Is something wrong?" his host asked.

"I'm sorry," said the guest, "but something seems to be missing from my meal."

"Yes," said the younger man. "My cook received instructions to serve your food without salt."

At first the older king looked puzzled. Then his face turned pale.

"What's wrong now?" asked the host.

Tears ran down the visiting king's cheeks. "I sent my youngest daughter into exile because I thought she didn't love me. Now I realize she loved me most of all." He moaned. "But it's too late. I don't even know where she is to tell her how sorry I am."

The serving woman threw off her veils. "Here I am, Father."

They hugged for a long time before father released daughter. "I wish I could make it up to you, but I already divided my kingdom in two and gave it to your sisters. I have nothing left to give."

"I already have a kingdom. I am queen of this land, with a husband and children I love dearly. I have everything I want except . . ."

"Except?"

"Your love."

The old man's tears started flowing again. "That I can give you."

* * *

This fairy tale reminds me that it isn't only the big or expensive things that add flavor to our lives. It can be something as simple as dancing at work.

So keep on dancing.

Keep on Learning

"The self taught man seldom knows anything accurately, and he does not know a tenth as much as he could have known if he had worked under teachers; and, besides, he brags, and is the means of fooling other thoughtless people into going and doing as he himself has done." Mark Twain (from "Taming the Bicycle")

I believe in education. I must, since I have THREE post-graduate degrees. But although I mostly agree with the Mark Twain quote, I also respect the self-taught person. (I bet Samuel Clemens did, too.)

Recently, I purchased Mark Twain's entire collection for my Kindle, and last week I started reading his compiled letters. The compilation includes a biography and running commentary written by his friend Albert Bigelow Paine. While reading the biography, I learned that Samuel Clemens was forced to leave school at age 13, when his father died, to become a printer's apprentice. This icon of wit and wisdom had little formal education. And as noted in last week's post, the same is true of Abraham Lincoln.

I come from a well-educated family, and by the time I met my husband through a dating service I already had a Master of Science in psychology and was working on my law degree. (My third post-graduate degree, an LLM in Financial Services Law, came later on.) When I found out that I had been matched with a man who had dropped out of college, I was skeptical.

We've been married for 31 years. If Roland had been satisfied with what he knew, our relationship would have ended after a few dates. But he was well-read and eager to keep learning, and I discovered that is more important than a formal education.

Still, I'm glad Roland went back to school several years into our marriage and got his college degree. Followed by a Master of Arts in history. Followed by 31 hours beyond that. The college degree enabled him to become a high school teacher, and the MA and Plus 30 increase his paycheck, but I'd like to think he enjoyed the learning, too.

The point is that a formal education is a good thing, but if something deflects you from that path, don't stop learning. Because even the self-taught individual can do great things.

By the way, when Albert Bigelow Paine wrote about his friend in 1917, he predicted that Mark Twain's greatest success--the book that would survive the longest--would be Personal Reflections of Joan of Arc. So much for predictions.

But Paine was right about one thing--Mark Twain lives. If Samuel Clemens had been content with his printer's training, "mark twain" would be no more than a nautical term for marking depth.

So keep on learning.

A Failure's Tale

Abraham Lincoln was a failure.

Actually, that statement is misleading. As we all know, Abraham Lincoln was a true success story. Furthermore, his failures have been greatly exaggerated, as I discovered after visiting the Abraham Lincoln Museum in Springfield, Illinois at the end of our vacation. (That's where President Lincoln and his family obligingly posed for the picture at the beginning of this post.)

Still, Honest Abe did have his share of setbacks.

He failed in business when the general store he bought with a partner couldn't compete with another store in town. (Legend says he failed twice, but he was only an employee of the first failed store.)

Instead of giving up, he changed careers and became a successful and well-respected lawyer.

He lost his first election for a seat in the Illinois legislature. (And won the next four.)

He won the race for the U.S. House of Representatives the only time he ran.

He lost his two bids to the U.S. Senate. Being a Senator must have been one of his ambitions, because he gave up a fifth term in the Illinois legislature (right after he was elected) to run for the Senate his first time.

Instead of giving up, he moved up, winning the election for U.S. President--twice.

Abraham Lincoln used his "failures" to achieve greater successes. Yes, his store failed, but he kept plugging along until he got the career he really wanted--law.

Yes, he never became a U.S. Senator, but his debates with Stephen A. Douglas brought him into the national spotlight and netted him an even greater prize.

So what was the secret to his success? A number of sources say it was his perseverance.

But I'm not convinced. I credit his thirst for knowledge instead. Lincoln had few opportunities to attend school, but he went when he could. He borrowed as many books as he could get his hands on and devoured them whenever he could find a spare minute. Like most lawyers of his day, he read law books on his own time and earned his license without a formal legal education.

And it wasn't his silver tongue that won people over. It was his understanding and logic and wit. Those are by-products of a good education (formal or informal), and he gained his through persistence.

So maybe it was his perseverance after all.

Invincible?

Most of us know where we were and what we were doing on September 11, 2001. At least most Americans do.

I was at work in Chicago. More specifically, I was in a managers' meeting with a video-conference hook-up to our New York office, located two blocks from the World Trade Center. As we were getting ready to start the meeting, the manager of the New York office asked if we heard the news reports that a plane had crashed into one of the Twin Towers. Then a few minutes later he told us that his building was being evacuated, and he left abruptly.

All of our New York employees escaped physical injury, although it was months before the space was usable again. One of our board members was among the casualties, as was Windows on the World--at the top of one of the towers--where we held our New York board meetings. (I got stuck in an elevator on the way up there once.) But in spite of all the human casualties, it could have been a lot worse. It is truly amazing how many people got out safely.

Why was 9/11 such an emotional event? Yes, we lost approximately 3,000 lives (including the deaths at the Pentagon and on the four airplanes), and that is indeed a tragedy.* But everyone dies, and many deaths are unexpected. According to the Department of Transportation, 37,261 people died in traffic accidents in 2008. That's over 100 deaths EVERY DAY. And be grateful you don't live in Iraq or Afghanistan, where death is a way of life.

So why was 9/11 such an emotional event? Because we lost our sense of security. We thought we were invincible within our own borders. We hadn't seen such aggression on U.S. land since Pearl Harbor, which had the same emotional impact because we had been sitting in our own territory and minding our own business.

It wasn't always that way.

On our vacation, Roland and I visited three forts on the Mississippi River. We started at Fort D, located in downtown Cape Girardeau, Missouri. Fort D is one of four Union forts built to protect the city during the Civil War. The biggest enemy its opponents fought was boredom because the only battle in the area occurred west of the city. But the country knew that it was vulnerable within its borders, and it was prepared.

Fort Kaskaskia is one of two forts near Chester, Illinois on the other side of the river. The fort was made of earthworks and wood, so all that is left are mounds where earthen walls used to be. Fort Kaskaskia was occupied from 1703-1763 by the French, then by the British until the Revolutionaries captured it in 1778, and it was last used in the War of 1812 (by the Americans).

Our final stop was Fort de Chartres, pictured above. This fort had a long history of French occupation during the days when France claimed the territory, but the French surrendered the fort (and the Illinois territory) to Great Britain in the mid 1760s. Great Britain abandoned the fort in 1771, and the Americans never used it.

As the very existence of these forts shows, Americans (and their predecessors in this land) have not always felt invincible. Once upon a time, we realized that we were in danger from all sides, and we learned to prepare for it and deal with it when it came. Yes, there were surprises, but they did not affect us as Pearl Harbor or 9/11 did.

My point?

America's greatest vulnerability is its conviction that it is not vulnerable.



* According to the 9/11 Commission Report, more than 2,600 people died at the World Trade Center, 125 died at the Pentagon, and 256 died on the four airplanes.