A Lesson in Perseverance

Tomorrow, stop by for my guest blog on Niambi Brown Davis, author of From Dusk To Dawn.

Occasionally I hear from an aspiring author, and with growing frequency published authors, after receiving a rejection from an agent or publishing house. In this business, the rejections can come fast and furious, sometimes with detailed criticisms or a curt rebuke, maybe even a form letter.

I know it hurts. I've been there. There isn't an author out there that can boast of not ever having a rejection or being critiqued.

Is it worth it to go on? After all, you may have invested years, thousands of dollars attending conferences, and let's not dismiss the emotional toll of the journey to becoming and staying published.

Gather round, grasshoppers. Here's my story about perseverance.

Several years ago, I had registered in the Marine Corp Marathon. I started off on this goal with the attitude that if Oprah could run a marathon (add the eye roll), I could do so. I was smaller than she was, at the time, and the instructions on the website under the charity I picked made the training regimen sound doable. I started off with gusto. I did the recommended training at home and met the group on the weekends. Then the weather got cold, rainy, or sunny -- any excuse worked for me. Slowly I skipped the training at home, but still managed to meet with the group on the weekends.

Steadily over the weeks, the ones who were dedicated and trained outran the ones...well, like me. My run-walk portion was more walking, than running. I began to feel defeated, but I kept up. There were other miserable souls on this ride, too. Then I began to miss a weekend here and there. Then it was several weeks. I'd show up and do my run-walk in agony, wondering why I had started this in the first place.

Finally the day of the marathon arrived. I headed to the designated spot and my running buddy and I decided for some odd reason to start with the (passionate, no tomfoolery) joggers. This is not a good idea, just like not sticking your wet finger in a socket. We were the run-walkers, and mostly walking. We had no business being in the front. And when that gun was fired, we quickly found out why. Joggers were passing us as if we stood still. And we were steadily trying to get over to the side because being trampled was a definite possibility. Finally we got over to the side after several joggers cursed our stupidity. I was too breathless to yell, kiss my you know what.

By now, I thought my heart would burst. My lungs couldn't fill up fast enough with air. I wanted to go home. But Oprah did this, dammit.

So we walked until we could catch our breaths. Then it was time to jog. By now I had lost my running buddy. I was happily jogging and walking, drinking water from great plastic bins and fire hydrants, places that you couldn't drag me to at any other time. I even took a bag of fruit from a little girl, wondering if I would fall over from poisoning. The Marines cheered me on, and when I got tired, I also got tired of their cheers and glared at them. This caused them to laugh at me instead.

By mile 11, I got a cramp in my calf. You could see the lump in my leg and it hurt like hell. I was trying to pound it out. People were telling me to go to the first aid tent. But I knew that meant defeat, and dammit, Oprah did this. So I limped my way from mile 11 to the end of the marathon. I cried. I prayed - well, since I change religions about every 5- 10 yr intervals, I was chanting at that point. Then I cried some more.

My husband who was waiting at some other place for me decided after several hours to come look for me. He rode next me as I limped my way. One of the volunteers wanted to know if I wanted the bus. No, dammit. I wasn't getting on the bus. I jogged as much as I could, but that annoying cramping would occur. Finally I got to the end, but not before an 81 year old lady beat me. Tons of people beat me.

But I was never running against them. Although, I used Oprah to spur me on, the only driving force was the inner resolve that I was going to finish that darn race. I may not have trained at optimum level. I may not have taken the nutrients to help my stamina. I may have taken longer than the average. But I had perseverance. I had the inner grit to tough it out. And I have my certificate and medal to say that I finished it.

Dig deep, fellow authors. Tap into what inspires you to be who you are. As cliched as this sounds - The Sun Does Come Out Tomorrow.

You can do this!