It was two o'clock in the morning, October 18th, 2005 in Tropic, Utah. I awoke with a start. What was happening? Was it a dream? It was so real! I sat up in my bed and began putting it all together. We'd just laid my mother to rest. My amazing mom--fantastic, wonderful, friend to all, who would love you no matter what type of person.
It was her that I was thinking of. The last time I'd seen her alive was a couple weeks earlier. I'd read her story after story that she'd written. She'd urged me to continue the writing that she loved.
I wiped my hand across my forehead--I was sweating. It was like I had a world of new information planted in my head--an entire novel! It had to do with mom and dad, but yet it didn't...it was fictional. But then again, it detailed what their life meant for all their posterity--for everyone. A kind and charitable Heavenly Father that loved us long before this miniscule earthly stay. Who would continue to build and nurture us, his children, long after. It depicted love, fidelity, chastity, courage, family values. and eternal marriage. Everything they'd endeavored to teach us over the years.
How did that knowledge find its way into my brain? Could it have been my mother? The Holy Ghost? I did not know, but I knew I'd forget this incredible experience if I didn't write it down. I grabbed pen and paper and wrote furiously until I noticed light coming though the basement window. I was finished.
Upon arriving to my home in Idaho Falls, Idaho, I began pondering what to do with this new undertaking. I'd shared my experience with various family members. They were supportive, and felt it would be nice to write a little story, and share it with all of mom's and dad's posterity.
I didn't feel that way. I had a huge vision for the book. I believed that such a monumental event should be published for the whole world! I envisioned millions of people embracing a touching love story that bolstered their faith by answering life's greatest questions.
But then a wrecking ball crashed down upon me knocking me back to earth. I'd already tried publishing two books, a short story for children, and an adventure family saga for mid-grade readers. The agent I'd gotten for the first one never got a bite from a publisher. The second book was met with 60 rejection letters.
By mom's passing, I'd come to my senses. I was a registered nurse; spending my time with needles, and catheters, and the like. Not a computer! It had been 15 years since my last collegiate formal education. I'd need to take courses in literature and novel writing.
I hung my head for a couple more weeks. The undertaking was too much. This novel would be three times the length of both my previous books combined. Furthermore, I had four children, and a new grandchild. I was busy in church, and endeavored to help a few families in my community. My time was too precious--too valuable.
And yet, there was that burning deep down inside. It was persistent--unrelenting. I fought it off, but I knew. I knew this book had to be written. It was around New Years, 2006. I began writing my novel--I'll Point to Heaven.
Night after night, after Lisa and the kids were to bed I'd write. I'd write on vacations. I'd wake up with thoughts in the middle of the night, and write until my shift started. I grabbed every spare moment, always hoping I would not take any of my energy away from my family.
It did take my energy from my family. I was often exhausted. I'm so grateful for their support, understanding, and resilience.
The writing was slow--tedious. Often I'd have to take months off at a time for different matters. After these pauses it was difficult to start up again because the mindset I'd had at the time was long gone.
Four and a half years later I was done. What a relief! I sent it to a publisher. I anxiously awaited the letter offering me a contract. Two months went by. It was not to be.
I couldn't figure where to turn. The thoughts of quitting started to become enticing. But I had an ace in the hole. I asked my wife to read it. She'd read many romance novels. She read it, and to her credit she was brutally honest. It was not good. She outlined what women, as the main target audience would look for, and what would turn them off.
Grateful for the new found knowledge, I began the re-write. Two and a half years later I was done. The feeling was different this time. It was better--I could taste its success now. But this time I would be a little smarter. I paid for a professional editor.
I nervously awaited her response--hoping, longing, praying...
The answer was not good. She was kind to point out its potential, but there was still a multitude of corrections to be made. It was nowhere near ready to be submitted to a publisher.
It was a time of introspection. I looked deep within myself, and was shocked. I felt resilient and motivated. I'd finally got a professional opinion, and the corrections to be made were right there next to my novel. I picked my writing up to a whole new gear.
It was a little different now--all the kids were gone but our youngest son, and he was so busy I had to set appointments to be with him. My main concern was Lisa who, though supportive, felt the neglect from my numerous hours spent in my computer room.
But, this time I could tell my writing was good. I was doing as I was instructed. I shared chapters with my co-workers. They were extra kind and considerate of my efforts, and offered much needed encouragement.
In just over a year I was done with the third re-write. I was more confident, although I still entertained a good amount of apprehension.
This time the chief editor of the company did the editing, and again the result was not good. My book was not recommended to be sent to a publisher. Instead there were even more corrections to be made than the last re-write.
I must admit. As resilient, stubborn, and persistent as I am, I'd hit the breaking point. I would never be successful as an author. I began experiencing a swarm of emotions as I reviewed the past eight plus years.
First--regret. I'd put off countless pursuits due to the cause of my writing. Furthering my education, golf games with my friends, fishing trips, dates with my wife, fixing up my house, making new friends, and on and on. What was I thinking? I'm a nurse! I'm a husband, father, and grandfather! These things alone should occupy all my time.
The regret soon deepened into remorse. I could have babysat my grandkids more, been a more supportive father, a better husband. I could have improved my gardening skills, my golf game, and a host of other more rewarding ambitions.
Next anger set in. Anger directed at myself. I was foolish! Why did I aspire such a lofty goal when my talents were elsewhere? I could have done more with my nursing career. And why did I think a clean romance novel would sell. One that promoted chastity, integrity, and family values.My anger didn't last long. I'm not an angry person. If I ever do get angry it's likely directed at myself. But as the anger faded, I settled into despair. If only, if only. Why, why, why?My despair was short lived as well. If I have one talent, it's that I detest taking a step backward. I began to reason. I'd spent more than eight years on this book. I'd received professional help. I'd read all the books they'd recommended--at least a dozen. I'd studied, pondered, prayed, I'd motivated myself with music and good shows just to prepare myself to write.It's like I'd been to college. My editors teach college. They've taught me the same! I've felt the spirit of this book! It answers questions. It motivates and inspires. It endears and encourages. It answers questions of life after this mortal sojourn. I know so because I wrote it! It's no small thing. It's a great thing that has blessed my life tremendously.Yes, I've sacrificed, and my family has sacrificed as well, but it's my joy, my passion--my life. No one will ever read my books and not know who I was and what I stood for. I've felt the spirit of God time and time again, as tears hit the keyboard. I know I've been inspired because the character arch's, the sub-plots, and scenes are far different than anything I've ever known or imagined.If I have any added knowledge from my writing, besides learning to write in the first place, it's a knowledge of God our Father, his Son Jesus Christ, and the power of the Holy Ghost. The countless hours alone in my room are spent pouring my heart out to my Father that he may direct my hands. What a blessing! What joy feels my heart. I know he loves me, sustains me in my writing, and approves my efforts to help others.The happiness returned! I'm just another step along the way. I'm moving forward. My precious wife supports me more than ever now. My children support me. My editor is working with me improving my novel's outline. She's helping me balance the storyline, improve character arch's, and much more.I was once told by a college teacher that I'd never be a nurse. I've practiced nursing now for 24 years, and have enjoyed marvelous success. Obviously she was wrong. If I was ever told I'd never be an author, I'd just go on writing. I recently wrote an article that was published in a world-wide magazine entitled Grateful for Life (https://www.lds.org/ensign/2013/08/grateful-for-life?lang=eng). I am grateful for what I'm learning. As you read each of my blogs you'll see that I have learned much from the hard knocks of life. That's all well and good, but I relish the fact that I'm learning something even more important. I'm learning heaven. I'm thrilled with the faith I now have in my Savior Jesus Christ, and I look forward to that faith growing ever stronger still.So now, I'm looking forward to the forth re-write of my novel. Yes, I hope this will be the one accepted by a major publisher. But in the meantime, I have a plan. A plan to stay the course; and that plan warms my heart to where I'm...NEVER BETTER.