A Book I Wrote was Published. How Did That Happen?

It happened when I wasn’t looking for it. I got published.

My first book, 3-Minute Prayers for Boys, is not the result of months or years of manuscript shopping. In fact, it got through the system with nary a rejection. How?

I was in the right place at the right time with the right connections and the right publication history. Here’s the story, for anyone curious to read it.

For years, I have been a member of a writers group called The Weaklings. When we formed, we were simply a group of guys interested in being published someday. We wrote fantasy, sci-fi, flash fiction, and bizarre children’s books that were actually meant for college students (that was me). We participated in writing events like the 3-Day Novel Contest and NaNoWriMo. We attended and started to speak at writers conferences.

Then we launched our own writers conference, The Jot Conference, a one-night, free event for writers like us who were short on time and cash, but wanted to make connections with others in the industry. We invited speakers who understood that we couldn’t pay them, and they came anyway. The connections paid off. Within a few years, two of the Weaklings were working for a publishing house. My friend Andy was an editor. I worked in marketing.

Now that I understood how the publishing world worked, I started professionalizing my manuscripts. I submitted my work to agents. I wrote articles and stories for magazines and places where I had natural connections. I built my bibliography. And I received rejection after rejection for the books that I most wanted to be published.

And then I lost my marketing job at the publishing house. I understood rejection on a new level. I returned to the bookstore and applied my experience to the store in general and the children’s department specifically. I stopped submitting my work to agents and focused on building the best children’s department I could.

Then I got a call.

One of my editor friends from my former employee had found new employment at a different publishing house and he had a writing project for me if I was interested. I was floored. I had stopped trying to be published. Now an editor was giving me a book contract.

Thus did 3-Minute Prayers for Boys come to be. My editor gave me a chance–as well as the confidence–to write children’s non-fiction (not a genre I’ve ever written before), because he had read the side projects I wrote while I was trying to get published.

And now that I’ve been published, new doors are opening. So for anyone who is afraid to get started or discouraged to continue trying, keep going. Write the next sentence. Submit the next piece. Surround yourself with other dreamers. Their success is your success. And then one day, it may happen for you.

It does happen.

On the Origin of Spitting Image

It was my wife’s turn to read a chapter of Andrew Peterson‘s On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness to our kids when she was stopped by a comment from our eldest daughter.

“Not nice!” said our eldest.

“What?” asked my wife.

“It isn’t nice to spit,” said our eldest.

“That’s true,” supported my wife, “but the thing I just read means something different from that. The phrase ‘spitting image’ means that someone looks just like someone else.”

“Oh,” said our eldest. “Okay.”

spitting-water-1550479The exchange got me curious about that phrase. Where did “spitting image” come from? How did it come to mean what it does?

Here’s what I found.

While some people think that “spitting image” is a deviation from “split image” or “spirit and image” or something like that, all evidence points to a salivary origin. In fact, the older mentions of the phrase use “spit and image” instead of “spitting.”

The idea behind the phrase is that a person is so like another that the original “spit” the copy out of their mouth. According to phrases.org.uk, examples of likeness and being spit out of someone’s mouth date back to at least the 17th century. To back up the fact that the “spit” in question is definitely of the salivary type, the same phrase with the same meaning is attested in both French and Norwegian (though the Norwegians suggest that a person is not spit out of the mouth, but blown out of the nose).

I still can’t say that I completely understand the phrase, since I’ve never looked at something I’ve spit out and thought that it bore a striking resemblance to myself. Other people may think that I look like a bit of phlegm, but I’ve never thought it personally. Oh well, I guess I’d rather have a truth that I don’t fully understand than a lie (like “split image” or “spirit and image”) that makes complete sense.

So next time someone asks you where we got “spitting image” from, you can spit some truth at them.

I am getting into artwork.

There are a few things that my wife and I just can’t seem to do: Take pictures with our camera (to be honest, I don’t even know where our camera is at the moment), enjoy seafood, or hang pictures or artwork on the wall. In the decade that we’ve been married, we just haven’t developed the knack for these things.

But on our recent trip to Chicago, we conquered two-thirds of them in one fell swoop. No, we didn’t enjoy any lake trout.* We visited The Art of Dr. Seuss Gallery at Water Tower Place on the Magnificent Mile.

Not only did they let us take photos (we borrowed a camera for the trip because–as mentioned previously–we don’t know where ours is now), but we found things that we would actually want to hang on the walls of our home.

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There are only two obstacles to actually solving the “hanging pictures on the walls of our house” problem with these magnificent pieces.

  1. We are between permanent residences at the moment and the painting wouldn’t fit with our current decor.
  2. These paintings and art prints are crazy expensive and it would be difficult to justify the expense since they don’t serve a practical purpose in the same way that kitchen tools or clothing might.

In the meantime, now I know that this art gallery exists. And vicariously (if you didn’t already), now you do too.

Check out their website here.

*There is no amount of cajoling that you can do to convince me to enjoy fish. There have been people in the past who insist that the way that they prepare the scaly devils will somehow make them taste less like fish. To that argument, I offer this rebuttal: There are many things that are not fish that already taste less like fish; I will save you the trouble and eat them instead.

I am my own barber.

_DSC0086I shave my head. Maybe you should too.

After all, bald is beautiful.

Reasons why:

  1. No hat hair. Ever.
  2. It is stylish. Some examples: Bruce Willis, Verne Troyer, Ving Rhames, Stanley Tucci, Andre Agassi, Michael Chiklis, Voldemort, and so on.
  3. Save money at the barbershop or salon. And you never have to worry about how much to tip yourself when you cut your own hair. Seriously, what’s an appropriate tip in those situations.

“But,” you start to say before I cut you off. I know you have objections. That’s where the next section comes in handy.

Overcoming objections:

  1. I’ll be cold. Not if you wear a winter hat. And if you get warm, you take it off (see reason 1 above).
  2. I’ll look silly. No you won’t. (see reason 2 above)
  3. I look good with hair. As good as these people? (see reason 2 above)

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” you say. “I’ll just run out and buy a razor now.”

Okay, let’s not get crazy. After all, there are a few (just a few, though) reasons why you might not want to abandon your top-mop.

Valid reasons not to shave your head:

  1. You have an oddly shaped head. Some people have perfectly shaped domes that need no covering to enhance their natural beauty. But some heads are made to be hidden. Feel your noggin. Are there strange divots or lumps? Maybe you should keep those to yourself.
  2. You have severe hand tremors. If so, maybe you should have someone else shave your head for you. Don’t attempt it on your own. I don’t want anyone going Van Gogh on me. If you can’t hold a sharp thing confidently against your head without drawing blood or slicing off bits, don’t.
  3. You only have access to rusty, tetanus-riddled steak knives. I don’t know why I’m warning you about this. Use some common sense.

That’s about it! If you don’t fall into one of the categories above, unleash your cue ball’s inner (outer?) beauty. It doesn’t matter to me if you are male or female. You are going to look awesome!