Every day you see one more card.
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart.
The waiting is the hardest part.

Tom Petty, lyrics: The Waiting…
__________________________

Things have settled down a great deal since my last post. At least inside my head. The waves of euphoria have calmed. Replaced with, well, a lot of things. A quiet sense of what has to be done. Some trepidation. A little fear. But mostly, a deep, deep realiz- ation of the opportunity that has dropped into my lap. People struggle all their lives and never reach that goal, never even get the chance I’m getting.

I’m thankful. And still a little awed about how it all came down.

I’ve not written much yet. For the book, I mean. Played around a bit with the prologue. And the first chapter. But mostly, just mulling over memories. Rereading a lot of my old stuff. Trying to decide what I might or might not incorporate later.

I’ve not written much because the folks at Tyndale want to meet with me first. That was to happen sometime in March, tentatively. But things move a bit slower at the corporate level, it seems. So now it will be early April.

I chafed and fretted, early on. Wanted to get on with it. There’s a huge amount of work to be done before fall.

But now I’m calmer. Settled down. The Tyndale people know what they’re doing. They have a game plan. I’m new at this. Plus, there’s plenty of time to freak out later. As I’m sure I will.

Originally, the editor was planning to fly in and spend a day with me in our conference room at work. That’s changed too. Now, instead of one or two Tyndale people, there are at least four that must meet me. So they decided it makes more sense to fly one guy to Chicago than it does to fly four people to Lancaster. Makes sense to me too. I abhor flying, mostly because of the TSA thugs. But for this, I’m game. Heck, I’ll drive out if necessary.

They want to spend a full day, plotting the story. Picture-boarding, they call it. Go from point to point, all the way through. Which should greatly simplify things. I’m not quite sure about it. Never done anything like that before. But they seem very confident. So we’ll see.

The tickets have been purchased. I fly out to Tyndale’s corporate headquarters early on Thursday, April 8. Return the next day. Country boy meets big city. I’m sure it will be an adventure. An intense one.

But from the new writing I’ve already done in preparation, one thing became clear. When the time comes to buckle down and produce, I will have to sit at my computer on my old desk in my messy living room in my cluttered house. And block out all the noise. Clear my head. Forget even that I’m “writing a book.” I’ll have to write to all you readers on my blog. As I have for going on three years. Talk to you, as I’ve always done. Otherwise, my voice won’t come out right. And the narrative will be stilted and false.

So for now, I’m in limbo. Thinking. Plotting. Sketching a bit. Waiting. Preparing. It’s going to be a long wild summer.

Way back in April, 2008, I posted a blog about old songs. Amish singing in church. Shortly thereafter, Erik Wesner of Amish America linked that post to his blog, triggering an immediate and noticeable uptick in hits. Amish America is certainly among the most widely read websites out there about Amish life.

Since then, Erik has graciously linked to about four or five of my other posts. “Running Around” was probably my most widely read post, primarily because Erik linked to it not once, but twice. Because of him, I have a lot more readers than I otherwise would have.

This past Monday, Erik’s new book, “Success Made Simple: An Inside Look at Why Amish Businesses Thrive,” was released in stores. Of course, it’s available at Amazon and other web sellers as well.

My copy arrived yesterday, a nice hardcover book. So last night I picked it up, figuring to peruse it briefly so I could mention it on this post. Next time I looked at the clock, two hours had passed. I’m not a businessman, never had any drive or desire to be one. But the book is so engagingly written, so well researched, so filled with anecdotes and examples of real life Amish businesses, that I found it hard to put down.

Erik is not only a scholar, but a fine writer as well. Which is quite refreshing. Many “scholarly” works are dry as toast. This one is not.

I definitely recommend it. Pick up your own copy and check it out.

Finally, while I have shied away from discussing politics lately (no sense in deliberately antagonizing any of my readers), I simply can’t keep silent on this one. Can’t ignore the vile developments that emerged from the slime pit of Washington, DC, last Sunday night. We’ve been inexorably traveling to this destination for many decades. And now we have arrived. Socialism is here and it’s here to stay, at least for the next few generations. Until and when it all collapses into dust and ruins. And fire and blood and death.

As it will collapse. Truth crushed to earth will rise again. Always. In time. But probably not in our lifetimes.

We get what we deserve. As a libertarian, I hold the Republicans and Democrats about equally responsible for where we are. Long term. Neither party really wants change from the status quo, even though the Republicans are trying to catch the head winds of the strident resistance that is rising like a flood. But it won’t be enough. It’s like a professional wrestling match; the outcome has already been decreed. All else is a show for the passions of the masses.

We are ruled by thugs who will stop at nothing to force their grand utopian visions upon us. It’s all vile. All politics that glorifies and increases the power of the state. Whether it’s the Patriot Act, or this latest abomination of health reform. It’s all from the same source. And it’s all equally evil.

Other than that, I don’t have a whole lot to say about the “health care” that will soon afflict us all. Except to advise all of you to stay healthy. Seek alternative treatments. Know where to find them and stock up on as many remedies as you can afford. Because the natural holistic methods will be regulated and criminalized soon enough. Count on it.

There is now a bill before the Senate that would place all natural supplements and vitamins under the loving oversight of the FDA. The bill’s sponsor: John McCain. They will never stop devouring our freedoms, the thugs that rule over us.

I close with a quote that has always been true, and will always be true. (I’m not a Nietzsche fan, but on this point he nailed it.) Until such a time as we absorb this truth and move to hunt down and drive a stake through the heart of the savage, ravenous murderous beast, we are doomed to wander this desolate wilderness in which we find ourselves. We and our children and their children.

“State is the name of the coldest of all cold monsters. Coldly it lies; and this lie slips from its mouth: ‘I, the state, am the people.’

Everything in it is false; it bites with stolen teeth, and bites often.”

—Friedrich Nietzsche

Yeah, running down a dream
That never would come to me.
Working on a mystery,
Going wherever it leads.
Running down a dream.

—Tom Petty, lyrics: Running Down a Dream
____________________________________

I’ve had the dream for a long, long time. Far longer than I’ve been blogging. I’ve always known, deep down, that one day I would pursue it. Reach for it and grasp it, one way or another. And either make it, or stumble and fail trying. Probably in a spectacular fiery crash, as most of my failures tend to unfold.

But somehow, after graduating from college and then law school, life took over. And the day to day grind of living it. The dream lay dormant for almost two decades, as other pressing things intervened. Always, I knew that I should revive it. Do what it takes to get there.

But I don’t usually walk through life-altering doorways, not willingly. Not unless pushed by some powerful outside force. Don’t know why. My cautious nature, I guess. Or maybe I’m just burned out from all those experiences of running around and leaving home so many years ago.

And then, almost three years ago, the dream rekindled itself. Came smashing back on its own accord. Triggered by a series of traumatic events.

And when you get slammed by that level of trauma in a deep gut blow, it stirs the true essence of who you really are, deep down. At least it did for me.

My instinctive reaction? I began to write. On this blog.

A litany of pain and fear and rage and sorrow, at first. For some time. Then slowly, tentatively, the stories of my past emerged. My background, my childhood. And over time, my writing voice developed. And more importantly, the discipline of producing something, even when the muse seemed distant. Week after week, for a year. Then two.

And somewhere in that time, the dream, which had flickered so low for so long, was reborn.

My long term strategy was hopelessly naïve. Keep producing good stuff, post it out there for the world to see, and one day someone with connections will notice. I have never advertised this blog. Or promoted myself. Word of mouth, I figured, was the best publicity. I kept plugging on. And my readership increased, through word of mouth and occasional links from other sites, to some pretty impressive numbers.

The dream intensified. And now it has taken one more giant step toward reality. A hugely critical step.

A few weeks ago, I accepted an offer through my agent from Tyndale House. To write a book. Tyndale. Out of Chicago. Big stuff.

I’m very excited. And scared. And pretty much freaked. Glad I don’t have a weak heart.

It was a long process. Frustrating at times. Hopeless at others. And I’ll tell you how it all came down.

First, I tried my hand at self-publishing. With disastrous results. We all, I think, remember how that went.

As a direct result of my reactionary tirade, an email appeared from an old friend, Jerry Eicher. Jerry and I were friends and classmates for probably the first seven years of our lives. I had not seen him in close to 20 years.

Jerry is a very successful author of Amish fiction. His books are everywhere, in book- stores. At Wal Mart. I’ve seen them on Choice Books racks at rest stops along the PA Turnpike.

He had been checking out my writings. And read of my futile effort to publish. Guess he felt sorry for me. He had a suggestion. Why don’t I contact his source at Harvest House, his publisher? Of course, I was all ears. Or all eyes, since we were communicating via email. Jerry sent me the link to his source. And I sent the guy a short message, along with a few of my stories.

Amazingly, the guy emailed back. He was impressed. Would I consider writing a book for Harvest House? Would I? You bet.

I sent him half a dozen of my sketches, and in June, he presented my writings to the Board at Harvest House. He was extremely optimistic. Convinced the Board would accept my stuff. The day came. The Board met. That night, a sad email.

He was very sorry. Some on the Board loved my stuff. But a few obtuse (my word, not his) members thought my Amish stories weren’t sweet enough. Not sweet enough. Think about that for a moment.

Anyway, the vote had to be unanimous. And it wasn’t. So no deal. Just like that.

And there it was. Rejection. Again. I had purposed to keep my expectations to a minimum. And I tried. But it was a blow. To absorb and accept.

My Harvest House champion was devastated as well. We spoke that evening. He was quite sorry and extended his genuine condolences.

But then: “Wait,” he said. “I know an agent. A friend of mine. I’ll contact him. This guy knows everyone in the business. Maybe something good can come from all this yet.”

I thanked him and hung up. A few weeks later, the agent emailed me. Could we talk? We could and did. Shortly thereafter, in late July, I signed a contract with him. Sent him about ten of my sketches and some personal info.

And that was it. No news all summer. After Labor Day, a short email, listing all the publishers he had approached. Big names. And then, silence. Nothing. For months.

In the meantime, I kept on doing what I did after the first two rejections. Writing. When things don’t work out, keep walking. Keep doing what you do best with the abilities you have. Sounds a bit cliched and trite, but it works for me. Whatever happens, I’ll always fall back on that.

And then, in January, a terse email. All the publishers had passed. No takers. Except one. A lone editor at Tyndale had expressed some interest in a biographical work. Would I consider that?

Of course. And so, a week or two later, I spoke on the phone with the interested editor. For an hour. About my ideas for writing. And hers. It went well and I was relaxed, amazingly enough. I agreed to send her an overview of what I had in mind. After we hung up, I sent her some links to specific posts on my site.

About a week later, I sent the overview. A few days after that, my agent emailed me that the editor was impressed. And that she would present her idea for my book to her Board at Tyndale.

Oh, boy. Here we go again. Another Board. Looming like the Great Wall of China. You can’t get around and you can’t get through. Now what? It hadn’t worked out with the Harvest House Board. I tried again to keep any expectations quashed. Fought back the nervous tension. And kept writing for my blog.

And about a week after that, a late evening email from the agent. Great news.

Tyndale had made an offer for a book. I couldn’t believe it. After all this time. It seemed like the Lord was honoring my commitment, my dream. I sat there and stared at my agent’s message. Read it over and over again. Absorbed it, soaked it in. Then I made some phone calls. To my siblings and a few friends.

Since then, the editor and I have spoken and communicated via email. As to what she wants. And when. She will fly in sometime in March to meet with me and plot out the story line.

She wants a book based on my life. From birth. A continuous work. Not short sketches. I’ve not written like that before. But I will now.

Tyndale wants the manuscript finished by fall. The book is currently scheduled for release in the fall of 2011.

And that’s how it all came down. I’ve got some work to do. A lot of intense work.

And here, I publicly thank my friend Jerry Eicher. He freely and unselfishly offered to me his connections to the publishing world. Without which I would not be where I am today. I will never forget his kindness.

This summer will be like none I have ever known before. It’s going to take a lot of intense concentration to get the book done on time. I plan to use a lot of the stuff already posted, the stories and the scenes, woven in. But it’s going to take of lot of writing from scratch, too.

I know I can do it. I know I can. But still, deep down, way back, there’s always that gnawing fear, that specter of failure. Just enough, I hope, to hone my creative senses to a finer edge.

I don’t embrace the fear, but I walk toward it. Face it. The dragon will not flee. It must be confronted and slain.

Until November, the blog will have to take a back seat. I’ll check in sporadically, probably once a month or so, to let you know how it’s going and that I’m still kicking. Maybe, with Tyndale’s permission, I might post an excerpt or two from the book, here and there.

And so I leave you for awhile. At least as you’ve known me on this blog. Wish me well.

When the manuscript is finished and submitted, I’ll be back. To tell you of how it was.

And so, once again I stand at one more threshold. Ready to step into a strange new world. It’s been a lot of years since I’ve wanted something as intensely as I’ve wanted this. It’s what I’ve yearned for, dreamed of, for so long. Like the great shining city, always over the next hill, that called to me in the days of my youth so long ago. The city that somehow always faded into the mists, when approached, as the mirage it was.

Now, for the first time, I approach the gates of that shining city. The gatekeeper awaits a battered traveler, ragged and weary from the tough slog of so many long and lonely miles through so many years. A traveler with some tales to tell.

And this time, the great city is not fading away as I approach. It looms ever closer. It’s real.

And that’s a little scary. Intimidating. I’m a simple man, from hard plain roots. I have to fight it sometimes, the urge to turn and flee back to the comfort zone of the land from whence I’ve come. To where I know and am known. But I can’t. The price of getting here was too high to turn back now.

I don’t quite know what’s on the other side of those gates, or exactly how it will go. I think my editor does. And I expect some of it won’t be pretty.

There’s only one way to find out.

_________________________________

Housekeeping Note: This week, my webmaster cleaned my spam infested site and installed the latest version of Word Press. He got rid of 22,000 plus spam messages. To protect from future spammers, he installed the CAPTCHA Code system for those who want to leave a comment. Just below the box where you write the comment, type in the letters and/or numbers exactly as they’re shown, and your comment will be posted.