“We can finally recycle the untouched moment,” the keynote speaker told us the first night of the writer’s conference. He went on to explain he had no idea what that meant. It was a snip-it from an in-progress conversation he heard in passing. But it had impressed him enough to remember it and share it.
I wrote it down, wondering at the meaning of the cryptic message.
It was my first keynote speech at my first writing conference ever!!! I was so pumped! The only dark spot so far was finding upon arrival that Cy (not his real name), the one and only agent scheduled for one-on-one meetings with hopeful authors, already had all his time slots filled.
Dang.
A host at the conference suggested I see if I could sit at his table during one of the meals. I found Cy at dinner and asked if I could be at his table during lunch the next day. He was agreeable. It made me think about the keynote’s quote. Would lunch instead of a one-on-one be considered recycling a moment? I had my one sheet giving a quick overview of the book, a three page proposal, and the first three chapters of my book. If this was to be my recycled moment, I was ready for it.
But at lunch the next day, Cy barely even looked at my manuscript.
“I can’t run with this.” He said. “Christian fantasy just doesn’t sell.”
I was stunned. This was my baby. My life blood. It wasn’t sell-able?
“Wha…what should I do?” I asked shakily.
He flipped to the first page of the story, scanned it and shook his head again. “This needs redone. I was thinking there was a dragon in it.”
“No, Dragon is the name of one of the characters.”
His head never stopped shaking. With a sigh, he handed the papers back. My recyclable moment was heading toward the land fill.
“You should talk to Dan (not his real name either).” Cy said, pointing. “He’s an editor. Have him look over your first page and ask for some tips.”
I thanked him. Fortunately, I already had scheduled a session with Dan the Editor. Maybe my moment was in sight after all.
Like Cy, Dan had trouble getting past the one sheet.
“Triune Godheads scream Christian.” He told me. “A secular reader is going to see that and feel like he’s being tricked.”
“Ok.” I agreed. Cy had already made it clear Christian fantasy wasn’t marketable. “So, what do you think of the story’s beginning?”
He was still stuck on the one sheet.
“‘Elyon, Logos and Spirit’.” He was shaking his head in a very Cy-like way. “Those are too common in Christian writing. That isn’t going to fly.”
“Yeah, but could you look at my first page and give me some pointers?”
Unfortunately, our time was almost over. Dan apologized for not having any more time and gave me his business card.
“Why don’t you email your page to me and I’ll look it over?” He promised. That was generous. I thanked him and relinquished my chair to the next starry eyed hopeful.
I was feeling pretty depressed. My moment wasn’t being recycled at all. Any hope of getting my fantasy series published was looking slim. “God, what are you doing to me?” I wanted to scream. “I’ve put so much time into this! I re-wrote it to make it Christian because I thought that’s what you wanted! Was it a waste of time and money even coming here?”
Dejected, I sat down for my next one-on-one; this time with an acquisition editor for a children’s publishing house. She was running a few minutes late, so I had a moment to collect my thoughts. Cy had already told me my fantasy work was not for children because the first page had kissing on it. The book proposal went back into my folder. I had a couple other stories I had written years ago, but had never taken any farther. Maybe she’d like one of those. Or maybe I’d get a round of head shaking from her, too.
She sat down across from me, apologising for being late.
“Whatcha got?” she asked.
“I’ve a story about a boy fantasizing he’s a ship captain as he’s playing with his food.” I offered.
She shook her head. “We only do children’s books with Christian themes.”
“Well,” I said slowly. “I have another story called Tommy: Otherwise Known as GOD. It’s about a boy who’s angry with God for taking his Grandmother and how he comes to grips with her death.”
She held out her hand for the story. I had only brought the first ten pages. No one sheet. No proposal.
She did a lot of nodding and pointing out things she liked as she probed me for more information.
“I like it!” She said. “It sounds like something we could run. Could you get it down to 5000 words and write a proposal?” She handed me her card.
I was blown away.
“We can finally recycle the untouched moment,” the keynote speaker had said. I think I figured out what it means. We all have “moments” we are hoping to touch: fame, fortune, success. Many of us will never reach them. But sometimes, if we trust God, he can take what we thought was our moment – in my case, my fantasy novel – and recycle that dream into something we hadn’t yet considered.
Thank you, God, for my recycled moment.