Doing What It Takes

Well, my friends...I have yet to kick the Altoid habit, but I am doing a fair amount of butt kicking around here. Not because I suddenly channeled my inner Yoda and am now adhering to all sorts of impressive, self discipline techniques. No. I enrolled myself in an online publishing class, so that Teacher Christine could kick my butt for me. And it’s working out quite well. In just three weeks, I’ve learned to write in three different genres for publication, as well as how and where to submit such pieces. I have been up until midnight on occasion, and cranky and snapping-turtle-like with the kids some mornings, but I do possess a new sense of satisfaction that I’m really doing something.

And here’s the thing about life, that I am finally grasping: we can do all kinds of wishing and praying and hoping and magical thinking for the things we want in life, but no number of dandelion seeds blown into the atmosphere are going to bring it all about. We have to work for it, my friends. (You’re like, Shanny—duh.. But guess what? We need reminders, friends—don’t we?) We sometimes forget that dreams come about by hard work. That Martin Luther King marched a gazillion miles for his dreams. We have to work hard. We have to read a stack of publications two feet high before we can actually write for them. We have to fall asleep with our laptops on our laps. We have to get up before the birds. We have to play more "Phineas and Ferb" for the kids so we can meet assignment deadlines. We have to bitch. And moan. And schlep around feeling a bit sorry for ourselves at times. And then pull up our bootstraps. And eat more chocolate – and of course, more mints. We have to negotiate our time, see less of our loved ones. We have to do what it bloody takes.

My friend Matt, a regular down at Sabino’s coffee shop, where I often write, is always repeating the same advice, as he stirs the sugar into his coffee: “Gotta do what it takes. One day at a time. Keep on pluggin’ away…” He sings it like a song. And I find myself grooving to the melody because it’s some of the best wisdom I’ve heard, over and over again. The life we want doesn’t parachute into our laps or land sweetly on a daisy petal like a floating dandelion seed. No, we have to suffer for it, make sacrifices. As my wise friend Joanna says, “Everything has a cost.” Nothing is for free; and if we think it is, we will only be disappointed. I still hope for fairies of goodness and grace to alight along my path, but my vision is enlightened by the acceptance of what’s required of me.

So what am I thankful for in the season of thankfulness (which is scandalously shortened by retail craze, as we are urged to practically skip the thankful-for-what-we-have season and move right into the getting season -- a whole new post, perhaps)? Well, my thankful list is ridiculously long, but at the moment, I am thankful for knowing it’s going to take crazy work to be a writer and a mother at the same time. I am thankful for my online class, Writing and Publishing the Short Stuff. I am thankful for my partner in life supporting me in this endeavor to complete the picture of my life – and for building me a shack to do it in. And for my boys loving me, even when I’m not a not-so-sweet Shanny-pie. I’m thankful for the people who share in my excitement, who cheer me on. For friends who think I can write and publish like Catherine Newman (Thank you, My Dear Mrs. Fenscik). For readers of my words, I am thankful. Happy Thanksgiving All, and if I may: Let's draw the thankful season out as long as we can.