A “Wahoo!” Shout-Out
I’m having my very first article published!! We are so excited here at the Funny Farm! Auntie T asked, “What is this all about??” Well, Auntie T, here’s how it happened.
For a long time now, my husband has had his boot in my backside about writing a book. I have always told him, “If God would put the next great American novel in my head, I would get it out for Him,” and blow him off. Or, “Oh, sure, honey. Just let me fit that right in between these 4 loads of laundry and the 35 REPORTS THAT ARE WAITING TO BE TYPED.”
That was on the days when I wasn’t particularly hormonal. The days I was, I would freely and unequivocally parcel out words of exhortation and admonition, including suggestions that, yes, there is a Holy Spirit, and, no, he ain’t Him. If you know what I mean. Nevertheless, he continued his badgering unabated.
While I have long had an itch to write, the idea of getting anything published sounded like an impossible dream. I mean, where in the world do you start? Don’t you have to have 4 years of college? Don’t you have to know some Very Important People somewhere? Aren’t there hundreds, nay thousands of hungry little authors out there that try every year to get published, only to see their hopes and dreams “die the death” with every ka-whump of the editor’s “REJECT” stamp? And so Grant’s regular sermons would get filed in the “round file.”
A few weeks ago, Grant was being interviewed for a special Goshen News insert called “Profile on Business.” In the course of conversation with the reporter, he happened to mention, in his pulpit voice, of course, “I Have Heard From The Lord, and He Says My Wife Should Be a Writer. Where does she start?” Well, maybe those weren’t his exact words, but you get the drift. She was very helpful and encouraging. “We’re always looking for funny people,” she said. “It’s hard to write funny.” (When Grant repeated this to me, I thought to myself, “Then she doesn’t live with a gang of pint-sized hooligans. Come to my house for a week. It won’t be hard to ‘write funny.’”) She also said that you really don’t need training.
So, on a wing and a prayer (and a little sliver of hope), I slugged through a Monday morning, trying to get 5 men fed, ironed (yes), and either out the door for school and work or established with the blankie and the toys. And then I wrote about it.
Grant sent it to her. A week later she emailed back and said, “I personally think it would be good column material. I’ve taken the liberty of forwarding it on to the Nappanee Advance News (a small paper in – well, Nappanee).”
While I have not heard back yet from the Advance, her encouragement was just enough to make me either a beacon of hope for those who dream or an irrational idiot. You pick. And so I have been alternately writing articles and submitting them hither and yon. I find that inspiration abounds at the local coffeehouse (where else?), but then again, when I’m writing there, no one is pooping (well, no one that I’m responsible for, anyway), no one is needing a clean shirt, and no one is baptizing himself with mycoffee. Yes, that really happened.
On a whim, I guess, I sent some articles to the Hutch News. Imagine my delight when he actually wrote back and said he would like to use one. Now, here’s the deal. This go-round is free. They only pay “regular columnists.” (Random thought – does that make me irregular?) My prayer is that God will let my words resonate with many people and that he will get a great number of phone calls and/or emails to that effect. That is the only thing right now that will make me “regular” (goodness, did I just say that?).
So….a very long story and a very long shot, but a very big God, right? As Jamison said so earnestly one night, “Mom, maybe your house is in your pen.” Maybe. But if not, the ride will sure be fun!
Thank you so much for your good wishes and your support. Stay tuned for the updates, okay? You can leave comments to individual posts by clicking on the “comment” button underneath each one.
We love you all, you crazy Yoders! No one parties like we do, right?
With hopes,
Rhonda