Of pinnacles and Pollyanna

It is no surprise to anyone how Pollyannish I am, because I tell you about it every time I turn around.

One day last week, A Heartwarming Christmas, the boxed set I’m a proud part of, hit the USA Today bestseller list. How cool would it have been, I thought, if that had happened when I was in my 30s and had more energy and more ambition and more books left to write? Because I’m 65 years old—also no surprise; I tell you that, too—and I’m tired by noon and ambition is only the difference between cooking dinner and going out. I hope I have more books to write but I’m past the point of being sure.

So how cool would it have been?

          Well, I don’t know, and it’s pretty pointless wondering. In truth, I spent my 30s on bleachers and picking kids up and dropping them off and working a day job I really liked. I wouldn’t want to change anything about that. And there’s the other thing.

          When I sold my first book in 1998, I thought I’d reached

the pinnacle of my writing life. I was thrilled and excited and it didn’t matter if I never sold another word even though I hoped I would.

          When I first sold to Harlequin several years later, I thought I’d reached the pinnacle of my writing life. I was thrilled and excited and it didn’t matter if I never sold another word even though I hoped I would.

          When I sold the true book of my heart, One More Summer, to Carina Press, I thought I’d reached the pinnacle of my writing life. I was thrilled and excited and it didn’t matter if I never sold another word even though I hoped I would.

          I sense a pattern. Well, no actually, you can see the pattern right there because I cut and pasted it into place.

          There are people who accomplish those Very Big Things when they are young. I hope it works out for them and that they find new and even better ways to be productive and successful and to have a good time. For me, though, Pollyanna to the end, I’m glad it’s worked the way it has for me.

          Because I wouldn’t give up any of those summits—including the ones on the bleachers when my son scored 40-some points in a basketball game or my daughter played volleyball or their younger brother set some new school records in football or the days any of the Magnificent Seven grandkids were born. I wouldn’t give up (except for a few really rough years) the job I had or knowing the people I worked with on that job. I wouldn’t give up being jumping-up-and-down-shrieking excited with every book sale.

          So last week, I reached the pinnacle of my writing life. I am thrilled and excited and it doesn’t matter if I never sell another word even though I hope I do. What I really hope for is more tops-of-the-mountains. I am, after all, only 65—there’s plenty of time.

          Have a great week—and a great climb. I hope you reach the summit.