I can’t be contented with yesterday’s glories.
I can’t live on promises, winter to spring.
Today is my moment. Now is my story.
I’ll laugh and I’ll cry and I’ll sing.
The weather has been unusually warm for January in Ohio, but today may be the last one full of sunshine and snowless ground. I put my laptop into sleep mode and drive out to a small lake and sit on a picnic table. A slight breeze ripples the water. I scrunch my hat over my ears and draw up my legs. A winter 50 degrees is still cold.
I count 167 Canada goose floating just offshore. Three doze, necks turned backward, beaks nestled into feathers. All are quiet until two others fly in and land. But after a few honks, they bob in silence. I’m sure their kind have been bobbing on cold winter lakes for centuries.
It’s what they know how to do.
I slip my legal pad under my thigh. It’s blank.
I’m at a difficult place in my search for a literary agent. Time is running out on the one who held the most promise. I’ve got to start all over. Back to rewriting a query letter, reexamining the synopsis, maybe editing my novel’s opening.
Getting published is not what I know how to do. At least not with expertise. My “yesterday’s glories” were teaching high school English. Give me a text and a blank screen and I’d have an effective lesson plan drawn up in no time.
In my head, I hear John Denver singing a song called “Today.”
I pull out my paper and scribble down a few ideas.
“Now is my story.”
I love writing. In time and with experience, I’m sure I’ll be an old hand with the professional end of it as well.
Another pair of geese honk as they fly in and settle with the group. Four others honk back in return. The bobbing continues.