My son, Angus, finally did it: he broke his arm.
Before you ask how this connects to writing, you’ll want to know how he did it. Get ready: he was on the trampoline. I know, I know; I’ve had to field a few parents who’ve said, “Oh, those things are so dangerous!” or “I would never let my kids play on those–oh, wait…I thought Angus was at a friend’s house…”
The thing is, if we didn’t have a trampoline, Angus would have broken his arm falling out of a tree, or skateboarding, or BMXing. He is just that kid. Last week, I found him standing on the back of the couch, asking, “Mom, is it okay if I do a backflip off this?”
No. No, it is not.
Well, he handled this injury great–partly because of the wonderful folks at Seattle’s Children’s Hospital. Angus broke his arm at 10:15 a.m. and, thanks to things like a hospital transfer due to a complication (of course, he would dislocate and fracture his elbow), he did not make it home until after 7 p.m., yet he said things like, “I love it here!” and “This place is boss!”
In my life as a writer–no, wait, in my life, period–I want to be more like my son, who continues to see the good in a situation long after the rest of us have retreated. This week, I had one acceptance (yay) and three rejections (boo). I am learning to say, “This is boss!” because getting rejections means I’m still in the game.
My desire, of course, is to have a decent income from writing by, say, autumn 2016. I only know one sure-fire way to fail: to let those rejections prevent me from writing and submitting my work.
Instead, I’ll be like Angus, who continues to say, “How about this? Can I try this? What about this?” and views his failures as chances to learn how to do it better. I’ll be a risk-taker, like him.
Only, I’ll break less bones.