As I shared in the Keep Swimming post, I’m finished with the creation portion of my novel writing instruction package, and now it’s time to promote.
I have one word that sums up how I feel about that.
Yuck.
I know I’m not the only creative person out there who loves the creating and hates the selling. And I KNOW I’m not the only one selling.
The last couple days, I’ve been poking around Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, and dozens of blogs in the writing and law of attraction arenas, and I have three words to say about that.
I need earplugs!!
So much NOISE out there. I’ve decided that of the approximately seven billion people in the world, all but 13 of them are selling something. And of all those people selling, I think all but 27 of them are selling law of attraction or writing information.
Okay, I’m exaggerating a little.
Seriously, though, do you ever get the feeling that you are the tiniest speck of all the specks in the universe and your voice is even tinier and you’re trying to shout loud enough for a few hundred or maybe a few thousand people to hear you and all you can get out is a squeak?
Or is it just me?
I know that when I feel this tiny … I’m talking quantum-particle-sized, I’m not aligned with the nonphysical part of me. I know this because when I feel this small, I do not have positive emotions. In fact, I have very negative emotions.
Those negative emotions are my indicator that I’m out of alignment.
Okay, I get that.
But how do I get back in alignment when I feel, as I said to a friend, “like a guppy in a sea of piranhas?” We didn’t answer that question in our conversation, but we did have a laugh about my silly analogy. Piranhas are freshwater fish. They don’t swim in the ocean. Whatever—you get what I mean.
Well, here’s what’s fun about all the work I’ve been doing in the last four months to find better feeling thoughts. I must be making some progress, because in response to my question about how to feel good being this quantum guppy in a noisy sea of piranhas (don’t you love analogy potpourris?), my brain ever-so-helpfully called up a memory.
The memory is from 2006, about a week after Tim got his head injury. Not a good time for us. I generally don’t go back and poke at it.
But the memory my brain unboxed for me was this:
My third book was on the verge of publication, and I, along with several dozen other Pacific Northwest authors, had committed to attending a library fundraiser in Bellevue. It was a dinner/book signing event with a keynote speaker. The speaker was Kevin Carroll.
Kevin Carroll is a consultant, author, and speaker who uses the symbolism of a red rubber ball (which he played with as a kid for hours at a Philadelphia neighborhood playground) to teach the power of sport, play, and creativity. No question about it. Carroll is a great speaker. But here’s why my brain brought this memory up for me: Carroll’s message is nothing new.
I remember sitting in awe of Carroll during his talk. I was mesmerized by his energy, yes, but I was even more mesmerized by the fact that everything he said was something I’d said myself at one time or other in the newspaper column I used to write—The Up Beat. Carroll has an original symbol for his information, but the message itself is familiar.
I had this big aha moment that night. I realized that it isn’t that we have to have anything earth-shattering to say; we just have to have a great passion for what we’re saying and a memorable hook to hang it on. In other words, in order to be heard in all the noise in the world, you don’t have to shout. You just have to squeak with intense enthusiasm.
Unfortunately, over the last four years, my aha moment got buried under the reality of Tim’s memory loss and later, my accident. But the law of attraction, working as swimmingly as usual, brought the aha back to me when I was reaching for a thought that helped me feel confident about taking my place in the noisy world.
Just between you and me—I really don’t want to take my place in the world as a writing expert. Yes, I have a lot of expertise in that area. I’ve taught writing in law schools and in creative writing workshops. I’ve written books, articles, essays, columns, poetry, screenplays and I can’t actually remember what all else. I’ve coached writers. I’ve edited. I know what I’m talking about. BUT my real passion is actually in another place:
Doggone It, I LOVE Dogs!
It probably didn’t escape your notice that I love dogs. And here’s the truth about what I really want. I want to find my place in the big noisy world as someone who motivates others using the wisdom I’ve gained from my dogs and other dogs. Sound silly? Simplistic? It’s definitely been done. So can I find a way to do it in my own way? Can I peep loud enough to be heard?
My last Springer, Muggins, was a talker. She had a truly awesome range of sounds, a wider range than I’ve ever heard in a dog. She and I could communicate pretty easily because she had so many sounds that her meanings became clear quickly.
Ducky’s “vocabulary” is more limited. She whines, makes a little chortling sound when she’s really excited, barks deeply when she’s “protecting us,” and the rest of the time, she squeaks … like a mouse.
It’s a tiny, little squeak.
That squeak has become my new alarm clock. I awaken to it nearly every morning. It’s a soft, gentle squeak, but I hear it nonetheless. It gets the job done.
We all have the ability to make that kind of sound in the world. We all have something to say (be it with words or a talent or a physical skill). And we may not say it as loudly as someone who has fame, but we say it. And thanks to my memory of Kevin Carroll, I now know that our little squeaks are enough.
It’s not what we’re saying. It’s the energy behind what we’re saying.
It’s not what we’re doing. It’s the enthusiasm with which we do it.
That’s why action from willpower is useless. That’s why action must come from passion.
So will The Joyful Springer be a megaphone for my dog-based wisdom squeaks? I don’t know. But I believe it’s possible. And that’s a good start for moving me into alignment with becoming the woman who changes people’s lives with dogged devotion to canine wisdom.
The truth is that we don’t have to shout. In fact, shouting is counterproductive. It’s WANTING instead of allowing. When we just put out our happy little squeak and trust in the law of attraction to do the rest, we take our place in the big, noisy world.
Do you believe in your squeak?
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