Absolute joy with a squeeze from sweet sadness

by Suzanne Warr, aka Lily Black

Sunday was my son's birthday, and I won't lie, I teared up a couple times.  He's just shy of halfway through his mission, where he's serving for two years representing our church in Seoul, South Korea.  Monday I got a surprise call from Red Adept Publishing, telling me they'd like to publish my debut romantic thriller, and I'm not gonna lie, I teared up a bit.

Two lovely, joyful things.  Goals I've been working toward for years--and years, and years.  I also know my son is going to be so very thrilled for me, because we've hoped and prayed that any of my half dozen books in various stages of submission would be accepted for publication.  I had specific needs for my books, so I was being a bit selective, and am beyond happy that this particular book successfully navigated the strenuous dating process and found a publication match.  It's the story of two black belts who are each other exes, and a seriously unstable stalker.  It's also a story of hope, and forgiveness, and redemption.  One of the happiest things I've ever done was create my first facebook author page for my new pseudonym, Lily Black.

But, you guys!  Despite all the joy, there's a little tiny bit of sadness.  That most of the fuss and furor will have died down before my son finds out, this Monday.  That despite having been a part of this journey every step of the way and hoping for me more than anybody but maybe his dad and sis, he will be the last to know.  That I can't give him a hug, when he finds out.  That he may feel alone, because no one where he is--especially since he just lost his companion and is the third part of an already existing companionship--will get it, or have the history to understand this.

So, a little sadness.  But, where is joy, without sadness?

If you've seen Inside Out (one of my all time favorite movies) you know what I'm talking about...and if you've lived long enough to read this, you understand, too.  Kids can't grow up without leaving, scattered behind them, the precious, beautiful stages of life that were their little years.  The sun can't rise without saying good night to the twinkling stars.  And this particular answer to our prayers couldn't come without the separation--the sacrifice--of our son and my daughter's brother being away from his family--and every family time of growth and closeness--for two years.

I know this.  And in light of that knowledge, I'm giving myself two commandments.  One, to tear up a little, without guilt.  There is no shame in acknowledging sacrifice, or a little sadness.  And two, to embrace the joy, without holding back.  Embrace gratitude that any tears which slip out do so because my cup runneth over.  Then smile, and smile, and look forward to giving my son the biggest hug in the universe, when he comes home.

The Quest Box

Not too long ago I sent away for some free samples. They were a new brand of energy bar, Quest bars to be specific. The flavors sounded interesting, so I thought, “What the heck?” What I got in the mail was an overheated black box containing my (now withered) samples. Yeah, Arizona summers are not conducive to heat sensitive mail. On the outside printed in red and white, in all caps, it read,

 “You say yes when others say no. You rise while others sleep. You are better today than you were yesterday. You do what others will not. You control your destiny. You are intense. You are obsessed. You are not normal. You are on a quest. Never stop.”

I love this box. I have no recollection of the samples from within, my children made short work of them despite their sun stroked condition, but the box is now a permanent fixture of my writing space. 

I am not sure what enamored me to it so quickly, but it is a prized possession. Maybe the, “you are,” statements function as mini affirmations for me each day. It reminds me that even when all I feel like doing is sipping my unseasonable hot chocolate in front of a film adaptation of an Austen novel, I have stories of my own demanding attention, plot holes to be filled and paved, characters that just want someone to talk to. Whatever it is, the fact that there was a company willing me to greatness regardless of what I thought (or didn’t even get a chance to think) about their product endeared me to the packaging.

Perhaps its greatest assertion, “You are on a quest,” is what really piqued my interest. It prods me to ask, “yes, but what kind of quest?”

Am I on a quest to be published? I don’t think so. Having had my first tiny taste of publication and the immense workload it brings, I’m pretty sure that’s not what I’m after. I’m not really comfortable talking about my writing in public forums, it’s such a personal thing. I really try to right for myself, to write the things that interest me. I certainly don’t expect fame or fortune, and I hope to avoid any form of infamy.

I think I might just be on the quest to find the most interesting story, maybe even the one tale that’s missing from my life. My day is so full, so complete in many ways that chasing stories and characters and themes is one of the few avenues of self-discovery still open to me. When the mortgage must be paid, the children fed/dressed/cleaned/taught, the yard weeded, and the billion other things that make up living in America in the 21^st century, the mind can become one of the last places for real conquest, challenge, triumph.

Perhaps it is silly, and really just evidence of being a packrat at heart, but I’m not parting with this little box of cardboard. Like another rather infamous article it contains my hope for what writing will be for me: a source of joy, a source of wonder, a refuge from life’s hurts and struggles. Yes, I am on a quest, to never stop.

How about you? What are you questing for?