Summiting

by Donna Andrews of the Femmes Fatales.

I'm not sure when “summit” became a verb as well as a noun. “He became the oldest person to summit Everest.” Has it been that way for a very long time, or did it succumb to our modern tendency to verb nouns?

I'd look it up, but I'm too tired.

A good kind of tired, for the most part. The garage sale is in my rear view window now. I could never have done it without the incomparable Sherry Harris, who helped me price things before the sale and brought her fabulous husband Bob to help me on the day of the sale. They showed up at 7:30 and stuck it out till about 3:00, when we'd finally boxed up all the outdoor items and either stacked them in the garage for an already scheduled charity pickup or in a few cases brought them into the house to be sold online.

(Those are Sherry's book covers decorating this blog. She won't let me take her and Bob to dinner to thank them. Although I'll continue to suggest it. Meanwhile, check out her books. Quite apart from the fact that she's such a nice person, she writes good books.)

And then all day Sunday I felt blah. Physically and emotionally drained. I stayed in bed till noon. Took a two hour nap in the late afternoon. Went to bed earlyish.

Why did I feel so blah? I had a nice wad of bills in my pocket. I waved goodbye to a lot of unwanted stuff. Another big batch of stuff is slated for pickup by a worthwhile charity. And I have at least a rough plan for dealing with the rest of my decluttering. I should be celebrating, right?

Well, I was. I am. But Sunday afternoon I realized why I felt so blah.

I'd just summited . . . a foothill. I had more peaks ahead of me. Possibly higher peaks.

Since everything that rattles around in my brain eventually comes back around to writing, I realized this was a familiar feeling.

Aspiring writers think of getting published as the ultimate goal. The peak accomplishment. They struggle, and if they're good and smart and lucky, they achieve it. Then what do they find?

More peaks. You're published, but have you gotten good reviews? Any reviews? Is your book selling? You've managed to get published—now there's staying published. Does your publisher want your next book? Can you finish the next book on deadline? Will readers like your second book as much as the first, or will they write you off as a one-hit wonder? Can you get a signing in your local bookstore? Why aren't you making the bestseller lists? Or nominated for awards? Or--?

Conventional wisdom has it that if one member of a writing group gets published, the group is doomed unless the other members also manage to get published within a reasonable time. And while there are plenty of exceptions, it often happens. I can understand why. To a writer longing for publication, the problems her published friends are dealing with sound like wonderful problems to have. Enviable problems. First world problems! Why are these lucky published writers still whining?

Because enviable problems are still problems. And not until you summit the peak of getting published do you even see all the other daunting peaks ahead of you.

So that's what I was feeling on Sunday. I'd summited the peak of holding my yard sale. A reasonably successful one, Sherry assures me. But ahead of me lay more peaks. More work. Separating the unwanted stuff that's good enough for donation from what I should just trash or recycle. Getting the donated stuff picked up. Figuring out how to sell the stuff that wasn't suitable for a yard sale. For example, we put out all the vintage patterns with prices lower than what similar patterns were selling for online. Not sure we sold a one. There are definitely people who want them, but they didn't come to my yard sale. Online is the answer. More work.

I didn't even want to think about it on Sunday.

This morning I'm taking a deep breath, and working very hard on changing “yes, but” to “yes.”

So when someone says, “Congratulations! You're getting published!”

The right response: “Yes. Thank you!”

Not “Yes, but my Amazon numbers aren't good . . . yes, but my agent isn't happy with my proposal for the next . . . yes, but someone gave it a one-star review.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Enjoy the peak you've conquered.

And when someone says to me “Hey, you survived your yard sale!” the right response is not “yes, but not everything sold” or “yes, but I still need to finish decluttering my basement” or “yes, but it was so much work.”

“Congratulations! You survived your garage sale!”

“Yes. Thank you. Hallelujah!”

p.s.

Garage sale or yard sale? Tag sale seems specific to New England. I tend to use yard sale and garage sale interchangeably. Am I weird?

I'd look it up but . . . still a little tired.

 

 

Comments

[Sherry Harris]

Thank you for including me in this,Donna. Bob and I were happy to help. One woman bought a pattern. I was amazed how many people reacted to them and shared memories of their mothers sewing. We had some interesting experiences that will show up in a book!

[Barb Goffman]

When you are too tired to look something up, you must be exhausted. Yard sale? Garage sale? Tag sale? What you call it typically depends where you live. In the US, the term garage sale is most prevalent, though on most of the East Coast, yard sale is preferred. I use both interchangeably. See this link for interesting regional differences on words like soda and pop. A map addressing yard or garage sales is at the bottom of the page: https://laughingsquid.com/soda-pop-or-coke-maps-of-regional-dialect-variation-in-the-united-states/

[Kathy Lynn Emerson]

We say yard sale and garage sale in Maine but also barn sale. I don't think I've heard tag sale locally.

[Mark]

Congrats on a successful sale.

And sometimes you just need to let your body rest. That's fine.

[Hank Phillippi Ryan]

HURRAY! (I say yard sale.)

And Mark, you are right. Resting is fine.

(And! We hired two guys to cart stuff out of our basement into a dumpster. It was more and more empowering as the day went by. I LOVED getting rid of everything! Jonathan's heavy heavy suitcases from the 1960s, tests with holes, old pieces of ratty wood. Gone gone gone. And the absolute joy of donating! Love.)

Hurray, Donna! xoxooo

[Shari Randall]

Hallelujah indeed! I hope when you're feeling more rested you'll be able to savor all that empty space. I'll be having a tag sale/yard sale (New Englander here) soon and can't wait to conquer that peak (wish Sherry and Bob lived closer!)