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A friend of mine told me that if I didn't start submitting, she would slap me. She wouldn't really hurt me. But she would probably embarrass me in front of some other writer friends. The motivation is right. She wants to push me to get out of my comfort zone. I know she's right, but it doesn't make it any easier. I have several projects that I have just filed away.

With the threat of physical violence and humiliation looming before me, I reviewed some of those earlier projects. I found two to consider. One placed in a contest, and never saw the light of day again. I did submit the other manuscript to one publisher and got a complimentary personal rejection. I made some revisions and sought a professional critique. The critiquer actually sent me a follow up email saying that she had fallen asleep thinking of my manuscript and that she "loved" the story. Yet it remained in my file. There is no possible justification other than a lack of courage.

Tomorrow I mail something out into the world. I don't know if the recipient will like it. I do know that gaining the courage to take the step is an important part of my journey.

We've all heard people say it. Writing is a journey. Enjoy the process.

It hasn't been that easy for me. As a youngster, I made good grades and never thought it was all that hard. I listened, figured out what the teacher wanted, memorized what needed memorizing and made A's. When I was in junior high and decided to play the flute, I listened, I studied, I practiced and by the time I was in ninth grade, I was first chair in the high school band, getting excellent ratings in solo competitions and getting accolades. I didn't do as well in some competitions as I wanted, but at least in my mind, I was still the best in my neck of the woods. Almost straight A's in college (darn that bowling teacher who graded us on our scores). And in law school, seventh in my class while working at a law firm and doing Law Review. Not the top of the class, but high enough to be proud.

My experience was that I decided to do something and I did it. If I didn't have that experience, that activity "wasn't for me," and I moved on.

Until I decided to write. I tried and I wasn't good enough. But I couldn't just quit and move on. For the first time in my life, I strongly felt that this was something I was meant to do, but it didn't come easily. At first it wasn't too bad. People told me I was better than most beginners. I could still feel pretty smug about that. Until I learned how far it was from "better than most beginners" to good enough to be published or even more, good enough to be excellent. Somewhere along the line, the standards changed. Not someone else's standards. The ones I set for myself.

On the project I am working on now, I was having trouble making the leap from having a really good story to having a great story with a great voice. I've made tremendous progress in the last three months. One friend told me that if writing is a staircase, I just bounded up several steps.

How did that happen? What made the dam break? I believe it is because I relaxed. I recognized that if I improve the work some today, I can be proud of that accomplishment. I don't have to focus always on the final product.

I heard Michael J. Fox, speaking about how he has dealt with his illness. He said in acting, there's a saying that you don't play the result of the scene- you have to let the scene travel to the result. The same is true in life. If you are diagnosed with a dread disease, don't live the result, live the life you have now.

I found those words very profound. By trying to live the result, I was feeling that I was a failure because I had not reached the result. Now I believe that wherever I am on my journey, it's okay. Others are more successful and know more? Wonderful! I can learn from them. There is no pressure to be somewhere on the path other than where I am.

The most amazing part of all this is that the freedom that I feel has improved my writing. My writing suffered from my anxiety, my efforts to control it, my efforts to create something that was the right result. I now have the liberty to let my emotions come out. I'm digging down deeper and feeling more. It shows in my writing.

I hope that you find much joy today, wherever you are on your path.

The final 1/4 of a story carefully builds in tension with several "above-the-line" scenes that culminate at the Climax with an ultimate emotional release.

I'm on the edge of my seat. Will she or won't she?

I left her last time right after she had written the Crisis. Euphoric for having faced every one of her own demons in order to send her protagonist to death -- metaphorically speaking, of course. Still, she wrote it and survived. An embarrassing mass of slop? Likely. All that matters now is getting the scenes written. Before we hang up last time, I gently coax her to face what is coming. She hears my words but does turn around and thus has no idea of the size of the mountain behind her still left to scale.

This time, when she calls, I hear it the minute she speaks. For the first time since we started working together and at the base of Climax Mountain, she hits a wall. Her voice has no energy. She sounds wary. Shell-shocked. Numb and filled with disbelief.

I scramble to assess the damage and uncover something quite unexpected.

From the time she left the middle of the Middle, I worried about her writing the scenes leading up to the Crisis around the 3/4 mark and the Crisis itself. I never even considered her real demons would hit at the End on the way up to the Climax. 

A local wrestler wins the state title. In the beginning, odds were against him due to internal fears and flaws. The newscast chronicles his story with a thematic flair that it's not unusual for someone to binge on toxic food when faced with possible success. Wrestler's dad seemed also to serve as antagonist in someway personal to the family itself. Mom sends the boy on a journey to an exotic land. He trains at a wrestling camp, sheds his old beliefs, practices important new steps, returns home and wins the state title.