Life got intense around our house as I boarded up parts of my old life, freeing my focus for the gates that had opened. For Christmas that year, my husband gave me a gift, though in retrospect, it may have been more for him. He sent me to New York City for a week, alone.
While there, I wrote, undisturbed, unhampered by any demands other than my own. I sketched out more of what would now be three books. Publication wasn’t my focus, but for those watching this scene unfold, it seemed like the obvious next step. I wasn’t interested; I just wanted to finish the first story. I had become the best writer I knew how to be. I wanted someone else to read it, to see the hope in the story that I saw, a story I hoped, I knew would help others.
In March of 2014, seven months into the process, my husband told me of a woman he met who ran a small public relations firm that worked with clients in the music and creative arts industries. I dismissed the idea and went back to writing.
Two months and lots of self-talk later, I contacted her. The book was almost finished. No one had read a word I had written nor did I want them to. I have never, ever, even remotely held the idea that I would be an author. But the source inside me had changed and I was learning to flow with it, to trust it.
We arranged a meeting. Alone except for the small binder that sat on the passenger’s side of Vanessa (she’s my Audi A6; I love her), I drove to her office, one in a complex of circa 1990 three-story glass buildings. Between the space of panic and exuberance, I drove through the maze of parking corridors to find a spot.
Anxiety clenching my stomach, I entered the lobby, the illusion of a tropical rain forest created around a fountain made of fake rocks, memories of corporate America and the rules that had held me hostage. Turning left, I walked past the fountain and down a dark narrow hall, looking left and right at the name plates on the door, my knees strangled by the urge to run and the Voice that was leading me there.
Two weeks later I returned to meet with her editor friend. Tall like Dr. Bell but not with the same magical feel of Hagrid, the editor asked a couple of questions about the book which opened a dialog about The Rules. Explaining the concepts behind the Creative and Parental World Views, specifically Kathryn’s ‘Life is difficult and then you die’, the editor said, “But we all believe that!” to which the PR person and I (both of us are Leo’s) said in unison “No we don’t!” The editor friend likely had a strong Capricorn influences in his chart J.
From there a heated yet playful dialog began, insights flashing in my mind. I left that meeting with two knowings.