… of this:

… and this:

… and this:

… and a guest post for Writer Unboxed in which I say something a bit shocking:

Some people might view the change in my goals as a lowering of standards. For me, it’s about understanding and accepting my limits. I mean that in 2 ways. First: Neither literary acclaim nor blockbuster sales are within my control. That’s just the reality. And that’s okay. Second, and this may also be a reality: I might not be cut out to be a professional writer. After a lot of internal struggle, I realized that’s okay too.

To be honest, that post started out a bit differently. The point wasn’t just that I might not be cut out to be a professional writer, but that most people probably aren’t. However, it seemed safer/kinder to focus on my own soul-searching, and then let people see themselves in it (or not).

Also, to be clear: I’m still working towards publication. It’s just that I’ve realized publication shouldn’t be the benchmark for my happiness. If it is, I may or may not ever be happy. But if I focus on the writing, and I let that be its own goal, then I can be happy right now.

(Overcoming a mindset of 15 years is easier said than done, though.)

Back in March, I fell and injured my knee. There was no bruising, no bleeding, and no swelling. No bones were broken. And yet for some reason I couldn’t straighten or bend my knee all the way, and certain activities caused me significant pain. (Ex: getting in or out of a car, putting on or taking off my pants, climbing stairs.) On the outside everything looked normal, but on the inside something wasn’t right.

At first I feared that I would need surgery. To be honest, I wasted a lot of time and many tears worrying about that possibility. But several doctor’s visits — and even an MRI — revealed nothing to operate on. To my surprise, I was disappointed by that news. As much as I had dreaded surgery, I appreciated the concrete-ness of it. It was a solution. Once it happened, I could heal.

But that wasn’t going to be my reality, and no surgery meant no clarity. As of today, I still don’t know exactly what part of my knee was damaged in the fall. I probably never will. The only “remedy” my doctor could prescribe was time.

He also recommended that I try some physical therapy to strengthen the muscles in my leg, so that those muscles could then ease the burden on my knee. I was assigned half a dozen exercises, totaling half an hour, to be done twice a day. They’re not even as strenuous as most yoga classes. How could this possibly help? I wondered. But after just two weeks, my range of motion improved, and the frequency of my pain decreased. Once again, on the outside everything looked normal, but on the inside things were happening.

It occurs to me now that much of life passes in this way: below the surface, making progress that can hardly be noticed, much less quantified. How close are you to getting that promotion? How much longer until you’re over that breakup? When will your panic and your joy over having a newborn settle into a comfortable rhythm?

Of course it would be great if there were clear, concrete actions that we could take to speed up these processes, but in most cases all we can do is press on and hope for the best. We may feel like nothing is changing, because we have no proof, no measurements. But even the tiniest of improvements add up, like grains of sand, building upon each other gradually, until one day you’re on a beach.

Even though I can’t see it on an X-ray or calculate it in numbers, I know I’m headed toward that beach. Someday I’ll be running across the sand full-speed, with no pain in my knee. I just have to trust that I’m making progress each day. I just have to give it time.

You know, time really is passing us by, and while I’m sure you’re making great progress I wonder if you could be harder on yourself for your own good. I say this because I want us to be successful, the both of us. I’d really like for you to evaluate everything you do, everything you spend your time on, and see if it’s getting you closer to your goal or not. If not, cut it out, and re-examine every so often.

My longtime friend Aisha sent that to me in an email last month. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

She’s not the first to say something like that to me, and I’d had similar thoughts myself. But some revelations are like jars with the lids screwed on too tight: you’ve got to pass the jar around and have everyone give a twist, until finally it’s loose enough and someone manages to open it.

This jar is now open.

Like a scented candle, the revelation has been subtle but sweet, slowly spreading through the air, filling me more with each new breath. I haven’t cut much out yet — in fact, I added in piano practice and Chinese lessons — but I’ve been considerably more careful with my time. Guarding it like the precious resource that it is. Giving less of it to the internet and more of it to my manuscript. Spending less of it half-engaged and more of it fully committed.

It’s funny how time can seem bigger that way.

What I didn’t want to do was make a bunch of drastic changes and then find myself unable to stay committed to them. Instead I’ve been letting Aisha’s suggestion seep into me, like a plant soaking water up through the roots so that it can grow strong in the right direction. (Lots of metaphors today…) Only time will reveal what blossoms, but I’m optimistic.

A couple weeks ago when I posted the new cover image for my Facebook page, several of you asked about Andy’s book, saying you had no idea he was a writer. Well, that’s because he isn’t one, according to him.

“Yeah, I wrote a book, but I’m not a writer.”

Paradox? Allow me to explain.

“Yeah, I wrote a book…”

I met Andy as a freshman in college. He was a sophomore, and the Resident Assistant for my floor. (Don’t worry, we didn’t date until a couple years later.) Andy was a great RA — in fact, he inspired me to become one myself. And lucky me, I got to take over the exact same floor that I had lived on and that he had been in charge of. A floor called NEW HOUSE 5.

Yes, that’s the name of his book, and it’s about my freshman year floor.

Now, this is where it gets messy. Because the “characters” in the story are based on real people. (Yes, I’m in it.) But that doesn’t mean that everything in the book is true. (Having lived through it myself, I can assure you it’s not.) Problem is, the lines between fiction and reality can be blurry, and there was enough truth to upset people. Andy lost some things as a result.

First, he lost friendships. There are a couple people who haven’t spoken to him since the book came out, and several more whose opinions of him and relationships with him were changed forever. I think that was the hardest part for Andy. He’d wanted to do something special — to honor the great experiences that he’d had as our RA, and to paint an accurate picture of college life for other students, RAs, and parents to enjoy — but not everyone appreciated how he went about it, or the secrets he divulged.

Second, he lost his job. Andy was supposed to be the Community Advisor for New House (an RA for the RAs — i.e., my boss) but when the book came out, Student Life panicked and fired him. They had gotten some complaints, I think, and were probably worried about confidentiality, lawsuits, and the like.

(This, of course, AFTER the school had put out multiple press releases celebrating his accomplishment.)

The tizzy didn’t end there. Most students were oblivious to the book, and remain so to this day, but that didn’t appease the administrators. Supposedly all the deans were required to read the book and vote on whether or not to expel Andy from the university. Outside of that debate, NEW HOUSE 5 became taboo. One secretary even confessed to Andy that she loved his book, but she’d had to read it in secret, hiding it inside a different cover so she wouldn’t get in trouble.

Now, all of this happened within the span of a few days, and the Dean of Student Affairs was traveling during that time. As soon as she returned and learned of his firing, she apologized to Andy and reinstated him as CA at a different dorm. I suspect that she realized what the years have proven to be true: that the book would not ruin anyone’s life, and that almost no one would recognize the characters in the book unless they already knew the real people.

(Furthermore, Andy had discussed the book with the floor ahead of time and had support to publish it. He also took some steps to protect people by changing names, mixing identifying traits/actions, and creating new characters. I think any legal battle would have been murky, although I’m glad it didn’t come to that.)

Hard to believe that was 7 years ago. Whatever splash the book made has long died down, but occasionally we still feel a ripple or two. Like at our friends’ wedding this past weekend, when the best man referenced the book in his speech. Can you say awkward?

(Funny, but awkward.)

The book’s contract expired in January, and rather than renew with the publisher (who was offering less attractive terms than before) Andy decided to make use of the new tools that have cropped up. With my help and Stephanie’s awesome design skills, NEW HOUSE 5 now has a great new cover and is available in digital form — as well as print — from all the usual places (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc.).

“…but I’m not a writer.”

Andy’s goal was never fame or fortune. He didn’t want an agent. His book was not meant to be a work of literary genius, or the first in a long career.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s a very creative and talented guy. (Especially on guitar. And Draw Something.) But business and baseball are what he loves, not books.

Andy is more than content to leave the publishing scene to me. To which I say, “Thanks! I think…”