I wasn’t expecting to sign it. The document had been resting on my desk for three months. I’d hoped to land an agent, a large publisher, and become part of the storied hoopla I’d dreamed about by simply sliding into a well-established system of bringing a book to market.
But it didn’t happen. And this contact had a deadline: June 1.
A few days prior to the deadline, an email from Marie Forleo, a thought-leader I’ve recently begun to follow, showed up in my inbox and woke me up to a new approach.
“Tight timelines often spark big breakthroughs,” she suggested. “You get fired up and focused in a way that’s outside of your day-to-day rhythm. You tap into a new level determination that can have a positive, domino effect. . .”
She was right, I discovered. With that deadline staring at me, I went into warp drive decision-making mode, one I rarely use. Most often, it takes me FOREVER to make a decision; I see too many possibilities. I take my time considering options, often waiting for the fog to clear before making a choice.
But sometimes, I’m learning, we can’t wait for the fog to clear. Sometimes we have to get clear about what’s important; we have to get specific. What do we want?
Contracts have a way of crystallizing words, intentions, and expectations. There’s something about those black-and-white words and the permanence of the inked signature required to bring them to life, that clarifies what’s important. Author Anaïs Nin’s words summed it up for me:
“And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in bud was more painful than the risk to bloom.”
After seventeen years of working on this book, it’s time to bloom. I’ve been told it will be a “quiet book,” whatever that means. But is will be my book, my story.
It’s time to bloom.
What about you? Has a tight deadline or contract forced you to bloom? Tell me about it.
I’d love to know.
My best—always,
Becky (Nana B)
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