Follow Your Dreams

I wrote a book, oh so long ago, and put it in the closet.  Ten years later, I was encouraged by a lady at a garage sale to "to follow your dreams and just go for it," so when I got home, I found the manuscript and self-published it.  I should have left the dang thing in the closet.  The reviews were terrible. I was crushed. But I kept on writing.

A year later, I was in my backyard workshop in Bradenton, Florida, building a buffet for our dining room and listening to National Public Radio.  One of the show's hosts was interviewing a successful author. "I was done." The writer said. "All of my manuscripts were rejected. The rejection letters were piling up and I felt defeated.  I began to doubt myself.  Maybe 'they' were right.  I was not a good writer after all.  So I gave up."  But, of course, she didn't really give up, now did she?  She wouldn't be famous, rich and chatting on NPR if she'd followed through with her threat.  When asked what  happened to change her mind about quitting, she said that she was outside in her backyard workshop in southwest Florida one day building a buffet for her dining room and listening to a radio talk show about people not giving up and following their dreams.  That next day, she sat down at her computer and wrote what would become a New York Times best seller.  Oh, my goodness! She was telling my story, and I took that as a sign. So, with fresh inspiration, I put down my screwdriver, headed back inside the house, sat down at my computer and wrote what would become a pile of self-published books cluttering our closet that no one in New York (or anywhere else) would ever read.  But I kept on writing.

Several years ago, I saw an interview with Tom Hanks.  He was talking about mentoring an Iraq War veteran who had returned to America with a dream.  He wanted to be screenwriter in Hollywood.  Tom swiveled in his chair and looked into the camera. "I told him," Tom said directly to me, "to not give up! You will write it and no one will read it, but don't be discouraged."  Oh, my! Tom was talking to me, and I took his message as a sign.  With newfound enthusiasm, I turned off the television, sat down at my computer and wrote what would become a second pile of self-published books cluttering our closet and utility room that no one in Hollywood (or anywhere else) would ever read.  But I kept on writing.

Last week I watched Oprah interview Tyler Perry, a rich and famous writer, producer, director, and actor who has a production studio in Atlanta. Tyler was talking about his years of struggle--he was homeless and living in his car for a while--before finally receiving recognition for his talents.  He told a story about how a play he had written, produced, directed and acted in was considered a failure because only a handful of people showed up.  Night after night it was always the same.  A play with no audience.  Then one night, shortly before the play was to start, God said, "Tyler, look out the window."  What he saw--a line of people wrapped around the building to watch what he had created--was proof he had finally achieved his dream.

The first part of Tyler's story was my story.  Well, not exactly, but in my mind I twisted it around so it fit, sort of.  I turned off the television, sat still on the couch and waited for a higher power to direct me.  Nothing.  Not even, "Carol Louise, don't forget to brush your teeth."  Nada. Zip. Not a word.  I took the silence as a sign that it was time for bed, so I got up off the couch and negotiated my way through piles and piles of self-published books that no one in Atlanta (or anywhere else) will ever read.

But I'll keep on writing.