Exactly one month from today, I’ll fly to Denver where I’ll meet Rachel Meisel, the editor of Summerside Press. Rachel has offered a contract for a book to be published September 2010.

I’ve been working toward this moment for over ten years.

Writers fantasize about getting “the Call” — the moment when an editor or agent informs them that a book they’ve crafted will actually see print. Ask any published novelist where they were when they first got “the Call” and they’ll lovingly describe that exact moment in time with as much detail as someone describing a marriage proposal. Actually, in some cases, more.

For me, it came on a bad day–a day when I sat down at the computer to write and felt an overwhelming sense of failure so intense I gave up. I shut down the computer and poured my heart out into my prayer journal–asking God if my sense of mission in writing inspirational fiction was misguided. I apologized to Him for misinterpreting my own selfish desire to write–as a directive from Him.

Folded into this emotional storm was various writing articles I’d recently read saying that in this bad publishing economy, absolutely no editors were buying new authors. No how. No way.

Later that evening I was sitting on our front porch visiting with my husband and two of our sons when my cell phone rang. It was my long suffering agent, Sandra Bishop, so I went inside to talk with her and hear which editor had rejected me this time. After all these years, I’m used to rejection. In fact, I’ve even begun to take pride in how good I am at it. I can take a blow, shrug it off, and keep writing. A weird little habit to take pride in–but it was what I had.

I was absolutely not prepared to be told that Summerside wanted to buy my book. I surprised myself and her by bursting into tears. Sandra chuckled and asked if I wanted to get myself together and call her back. I told her that I’d waited too long for this phone call. I didn’t want to miss a second of it.

After she’d outlined the deal and we’d hung up–I went back to the porch and told my family that I had a book deal. Could not believe the words were coming out of my mouth. We whooped and hugged and hollered and high-fived and jumped up and down. A car passed. I didn’t pay attention to who it was, but there is probably a neighbor who now thinks we’re a bunch of crazy people. I really don’t care.

And now the real work begins. Rewriting. Editing. Outlining (hopefully) future books.

I’m so ready.

God’s timing is never our own–but it is always perfect. To Him be the glory forever.

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