Shauna Allen's Blog, page 3

My Five-Pointed Star

Have you ever had something just miraculously work?

Shabam, all the stars aligned in the universe just so, you hit every green light, had the exact change for that Starbucks caramel machiatto, ran early for your meeting, got the perfect haircut, lost weight without trying – and had people notice?

You know, it all just worked?

Perfect.

It’s good, right? When life is trotting along at that blessed pace that seems oh, so comfortable and all that bad stuff seems to be a thing of the past because the sweet things of life are tasting, well, sweet right now.

I guess I’m at one of those delectable spots at the moment.

Let me explain, lest I sound like a gloater. You see, it was only a few short weeks ago that I was in one of those dry as dust spots where things aren’t so sweet and tasty. I was wondering just what the heck I was doing, at least as far as this whole writing gig goes. The landscape seemed pretty barren, nobody was calling, judges had not been kind in contests, agents were rejecting me left and right – if they were responding at all – and my muse had left the building. Those nasty little thoughts began to invade my brain like little negativity parasites.

“You aren’t meant to be a writer. If you were, someone would’ve said ‘yes’ by now.”

“Uh, those judges hate you. You must suck.”

REJECTION.

REJECTION.

REJECTION.

It’s a familiar part of any writer’s life. But I was letting it get me down. Perhaps, also, a familiar part of any writer’s life.

But, thankfully, I have my critique group. My babes. They, and they alone, are what kept me buoyant and sane and believing in my writing. “The cream always rises to the top,” one told me more than once. Thank you for that, by the way.

Let me tell you something about my ladies. There are five of us. We’re all very different and at very different stages in life. We write totally different genres and bring all kinds of separate strengths and weaknesses to the table. But that is the beauty of what makes us work. We have the mama bear and grammatical queen, the strong opinionated warrior princess, the wise one whose quiet strength we all admire, and the one whose deep, deep faith I’ve personally drawn upon more than once. I have no idea what they think of me, but they keep me around anyway.

We started out as a writing group and we’ve all gone much farther in our writing and professional goals than I think we ever imagined. Our power is in our numbers, for sure. But, I truly believe, that as we’ve walked with each other through tragedies and triumphs that our true power lies in our love for each other as we’ve become more than a writing group. We’ve become true friends.

And now, as I sit in my sweet spot with contest finals, four requests from editors, and that long awaited contract offer, I can say whole-heartedly that I did not do it alone. Of course I have my imagination, my family, and my God to thank. But, this five-pointed star we’ve created, ladies, it is my sweet spot.

 

 

To all the men I’ve loved before….

One night as I studied my husband’s hand holding mine, I was struck with the beautiful disparity between the two. His, much larger and stronger, work-roughened and tan. Mine, fair and tiny in his grasp. Those hands of his have held me and loved me for many, many years. He was my high school sweetheart and he’s loved me since I was 14 years old. Kinda hard to believe, I know.

And, I wanted to stop as we approach Valentines Day and give my honey a little public love. He’s certainly deserving. He’s walked with me through some difficult times and proven to be a man of strength, character, and faith. And he loves and supports me in my dreams. What more can a girl ask for?

But, I would be remiss if I didn’t also take a moment to say thank you to the man who loved me first. Because in him I had the model of what a man is who loves his wife and a firm foundation of love and self-worth to draw upon for my whole life. A girl picking a husband is pretty much lost without that, I believe.

I love you, Daddy.

A little forgotten or unknown fact from my wedding back in April of 1994: I had requested a certain song for our Father-Daughter dance. For some reason, the DJ didn’t play it, so we danced to something else. It’s always been a little bit of a disappointment for me.

So, at long last, here’s our song that was supposed to be played that day. Daddy, may I have this dance…?