Getting My Priorities Straight

I haven’t posted here in a while. Lots going on in Heagler-Land:  end of the school year, our annual Texas trip, getting ready for (also known as “panicking over the thought of”) a writer’s conference and falling in love. That’s right love. The came-out-of-nowhere, hit-me-like-a-mack-truck, head-over-heels, holy-shit-is-this-what-it’s-meant-to-feel-like? kind. Love. Weird, huh? I know. Trust me – I’m as surprised as anyone and I’m afraid I’ve done little but bask in my new-found happiness as a result.


With all this traveling, panicking, helplessly falling and basking, I’ve failed not only to write anything here, but also (and arguably more importantly) to write anything resembling a book pitch (something I need to be able to spew out virtually automatically at the writer’s conference in a few short weeks), let alone an actual book proposal.

I contemplated attending this conference last year, but balked at the last minute. Conference attendance does not come cheap and I couldn’t justify the expense if I didn't feel fully prepared. So I gave myself a year to get prepared. And while I’ve used the extra year to improve my writing, I did not use the time to write a book proposal that will be irresistible to agents and editors, hone my self-promotion skills or educate myself about publishing. Yet despite this, I entered the literary contest tied to the conference and by becoming a finalist have pretty much ensured myself extra attention at the event making my half-baked book proposal, virtually non-existent self-promotion skills and complete lack of publishing knowledge even more obvious. Oy.

Did I fail to do these things because I’m a busy, single mom artfully juggling the demands of work, parenting, volunteering and maintaining relationships with friends and family? Or am I an incurable procrastinator? Am I afraid of success? Have I failed completely at prioritizing?

Or is it possible I did it exactly right? It’s one year later and I’m no more prepared to pitch a book to agents and editors than I was last year. But, my writing has improved and I’m a finalist in a literary contest. My children are happy, healthy and loved. I’m valued at work. All the school projects for which I volunteered were completed on time (mostly). I have the most amazing friends and I’d like to think that being a good friend plays a role in that. And on top of all that, I’m in love. Desperately, passionately, completely, happily in love. Maybe I spent the last year doing precisely what I should have been doing. Maybe I’m actually a genius at prioritizing.  (Probably an evil genius, but still.)

In a few short weeks I may be pitching my book at the Pacific Northwest Writers Association Writers Conference with something like this: “My book is a first-person narrative detailing the struggles of a single mom raising two kids – one with autism and one without. It’s an irreverent, self-effacing, at-times tragic, mostly hopeful, funny look at my often feeble attempts to balance raising good kids, keeping house like June Cleaver, success at work, being a good friend and drinking a lot of wine.” And who knows? If I’m not asked to leave the conference for drinking chardonnay from a travel coffee mug, I may even win the literary contest.

It could happen. It seems that this year anything is possible.