Hey, fellow Nudgees. A few days ago I realized somethin...

Hey, fellow Nudgees. A few days ago I realized something that I wanted to share with you.

I've stopped whining.

Okay, let me clarify that. I still whine when the septic tank backs up just before houseguests arrive or Guinness (male lab) wakes me up out of a delicious nap with his wet nose in my ear. I whine long and loud in those situations. I mean, as my favorite football commentators say, "C'mon MAN!"

I'm talking about the whining I've done for so long -- even publically -- about what the writing life has become.

You've heard me carry on about not wanting to spend time tweeting and friending and liking and hopping (blog-wise) and linking-in and logging-on and everything else that requires me to be media social.

You've listened to me go on ad nauseam about how I'm a writer and writers write -- they don't promote and market and post and run contests.  I'm sure you've wanted to offer me a little cheddar with that whine when I've longed out loud for the days of L.M. Montgomery and Jane Austen, who didn't have to do all this "stuff". You could probably chant with me: "This isn't what I signed up for 30 years ago."

Yeah, well, what is?

I actually never asked myself that question. What I did, as I shared with you in a previous post, was ask God to lead me to the goals this year instead of me setting them and then asking God to bless them. And then with fearful heart and quaking boots I listened and waited and took walks and baked pies and otherwise went about my daily round. And a couple of weeks ago as I was journalling, I realized:

I've stopped whining.

Instead, with the help of my saintly virtual assistant I've been able to let "social media" become "soul media" for me. I've discovered that just because The Reluctant Prophet trilogy isn't flying off the bookstore shelves its message is touching people deeply and I can use the Internet to keep talking about that message. I mean -- really. I have actual relationships with readers on Facebook. I'm sharing my thirtieth anniversary as a published author with them.  And who better, right? Every day I find new ways to deepen my relationship with the girls on my tween and teen blogs, which I can only carry so far between the covers of my books.

Another saintly friend who comes from the business world has taught me about tickler files and client binders and priority scheduling. The writing time is sacred, but so is the space for all the other things that are now a part of this thing called making a living as a writer.

Because that's the thing -- over these thirty years I have watched it all change until it is not the same in any way as it was back in 1982. I mean, what the Sam Hill is? If things didn't change, we would still be wearing shoulder pads, ladies (which I actually happened to like) and Spandex with leggings (which I did not!) About the time I unconsciously stopped whining, I started asking God, "What is still true about writing?"

Here is just one of the many answers that have come to me:

I still can't not do it because it's what I'm called to do.

 Or to put that into terms that actually make sense: If I ask myself, are you going to stop listening for truth and discovering ways to get it out there just because publishers no longer offer mega-multi-book contracts and most of the mom-and-pop Christian bookstores have closed their doors and writers now have to be part of the team that markets their books?

Um, no. I can't even consider it. Nor do I want to because -- dare I say it -- some of these new ways are pretty fun.

How can I meet with the vibrant, beautiful young women who make up the Tommy Nelson marketing team and not want to get on board with where they want to take me?

How can I talk to a young, enthusiastic acquisitions editor who explains "socially developed material" and not want to do an e-book that way? 

How can I turn down any opportunity to help people recognize the nudge and follow it in their own authentic ways -- even if that opportunity lies in a one-liner on Facebook?

I can't. Because God won't let me. Because God has made it clear that things being made new  is not limited to the hereafter.

And that, I think, is why I've stopped whining.

Not because I'm virtuous (are you serious?) or saintly (no, that's my virtual assistant and my business advisor-friend) or particularly astute (this is the woman who never put it together until I heard it yesterday that "author" and "authority" come from the same root word, which is probably a good thing) .

No, I've stopped whining because I don't need to anymore.

Except when it comes to the septic tank . . . .

You know I'd love to hear, well, anything you want to say -- but especially what is still true for you even as the world changes.

In HIS truth,

Nancy Rue