First Words

My nephew is taking his time learning to speak, so he doesn't say too much yet, though he has his own versions of lots of words--like "help," and "apple," and "birthday," which don't sound anything like the actual words and therefore can only be interpreted by his family.  But for months, he's been saying 2 things very clearly.  He says "up" out loud, and he knows how to say "more" in sign language.

Up and more.  That's all.  It doesn't seem like much, but my nephew has taught me that these words have so many shades of meaning.  You want to be closer to something, or see something?  Up.  You want to keep eating, or you want to see something funny again?  More. You want to gain the perspective of those around you?  Up.  You don't want to leave the people you're with?  More.  You just want to be held?  Up.  You just want to be loved?  More.

Up.  More.  So simple, and yet, so necessary.

He recently added "cheese" to his repertoire.  Also necessary.

Unfinished Words

Last winter/spring/summer, I collected yogurt lids in the hope of getting the right letters to win a beach vacation.  I didn't get them.  But I did end up with tons of lettered lids in my desk drawer at work.  When I left my job, I saved the lids so I could use them for an elaborate art project for my then-boyfriend.  When we broke up, I saved the lids because I couldn't bear to throw out the results of such a sustained effort toward something.  When I moved out of my apartment, I finally got rid of the lids, but first I took this picture because I didn't want the letters to have been a complete waste:

All of those letters scattered on the floor made me realize something: sometimes you have to go through a lot of wrong words before finding the right one.  And also, I ate a lot of yogurt last year.

Misunderstood Words

On a recent flight, the annoying teenage girl in front of me was looking at the safety information card that can be found in the seat pocket in front of you.  I glanced at it and saw what I thought were special instructions for a "Tall Exit."  At once amused and outraged, I pulled out my own card and looked at it again.  Then I snapped a picture of it, thinking, Wow, so now tall people can't even escape from a plane the normal way?

It wasn't until I put my camera away that I noticed it actually said, "Tail Exit."

That's why I love the written word.  You can read something over and over again and it may not be until the third time that you finally get it.  When it's written down, you have time to mull it over to make sure you're understanding the message, which you don't always have a chance to do with spoken conversations.  That's also why I never liked text messages.  There's still plenty of opportunity for misunderstanding, but the immediacy encourages you not to think about things first.  Then of course you have the results of the miscommunication right there in front of you to read over again.  And again.

Right Words, Right Time

People say everything happens for a reason.  I think that's true, but most of the time, that reason is simply that a human being did something to make it happen.

Last year, it was my dream to get a creative writing MFA.  I couldn't think of anything better than spending two years with nothing else to focus on but writing, and I couldn't think of any other practical way to do that than by getting an MFA.  For whatever reason (it probably had something to do with the fact that I only applied to four top schools and had absolutely nothing to show for my so-called destiny to become a writer...but who can say for sure?), I didn't get in.  I was secretly devastated, even though I'd told everyone I'd never expected to get in.

Fast forward to now.  I am a New York Times-published writer.  Would it have happened if I had gotten into an MFA program?  Probably not, or at least not at this point.  But do I think fate had anything to do with this?  Nope.  I did it all on my own.  And honestly, it feels a lot better that way. 

(And even if fate did help out a little, no way am I sharing my glory with that lazy bastard.  You hear that, fate?  You can't just ignore me for 27 years and then swoop in and expect to share the by-line.)

Long Overdue Words

When I opened my mailbox today and saw an envelope with my address written in my handwriting, for a second there I was very intrigued.  Did I send myself a letter from the future?  That would be so cool (and kind of scary).  But no.  It was a rejection letter from a publishing company for a book proposal I had sent in...over a year earlier.

We very much appreciate the submisison of your book idea to Sourcebooks.  Like most publishing houses, we receive several thousand solicited and unsolicited book ideas and manuscripts every year.  However, we publish fewer than 200 titles per year.  As a result, we are forced to reject the vast majority of the books submitted.

 I work in publishing.  I understand completely what the letter actually means:

We do not appreciate the submission of your book idea to Sourcebooks at all.  Unlike most publishing houses, we still haven't taken out that clause about accepting unsolicited manuscripts, so we receive thousands of piles of crap every year.  However, we only publish the books that have been pitched by agents, or that have previously been blogs.  As a result, we decided to let your submission get lost until our diligent summer intern found it and we were forced to do the right thing by responding.

I actually did appreciate the other rejection letters I got in a timely manner--and again, I work in publishing, so I say a few months is timely.  But sorry, Sourcebooks, 13 months is not.  So don't be surprised if, when I become a professional writer with an agent, I am forced to not submit anything to you.