It is a contemplative morning. It actually started around four a.m. when I got out of bed and stumbled outside into the night on the beloved back deck. Standing there under the stars, my mind was racing with thoughts that refused to be smothered with sleep. So I stood there looking at the stars ... which is something that I've always done when I need to relax and focus. They were especially bright and the sliver of moon was mostly a black ball hanging there.
I got a lot going on all of a sudden. There are manuscripts for three different books that are written and need to come to life. One is on "Taking time to Heal", another on "Passion" and then there is this sort of sequel to "Running with the Dolphins". They are like a set of triplets demanding to be born all at the same time, each with a different personality and each will turn out differently than I think they will.
Esther who I love was asking me yesterday about my books and which was my favorite. In some ways that's impossible to answer as it's like trying to say which of my children is my favorite. It's impossible as I love them all so much. Chelsea was here last night giving me her critique of the remade house that is becoming a new home. So at the moment she is my favorite, especially when we started watching Monty Python clips on You Tube and shared the same laughter that comes from the same places. But then Kristen will blow in like a hurricane bossing me around or Jeremy will call and we'll talk and then it changes. Throw us all together and we a collective hoot! Throw in Marie and Sam and we get out of hand.
So standing in the dark under the early morning stars these books were coming together in my head. And I was thinking of Esther and her question and almost 1000 pages that are just lying around. I'd already asked Dedra to help me assemble them as she is an editor.
I am convinced that there are two types of people in the world ... writers and editors. My dear friend Stacy, whom I also love, has chided me that I need an editor for my morning musings. I will never understand editors! They are whacked out people who believe in rules. They are necessary ... but who cares if I left out a word or two?
Then there is this agent in New York who's asked for my stuff. I've never had an agent. I've published like I write ... I freebase!
This of course drove my publishers crazy. The first two books were very similar and the publisher thought we were settling into a groove. Then a bigger publisher wanted the third book so I jumped ship which was fine until I wrote the forth book which was how to end homelessness in America. So they dropped me (though the book did win an award which makes it all ... ironic).
Then I wrote "Running with the Dolphins" because Tybee Island is too crazy and beautiful a place to not write about. The Tybee Island city council decided to change everything about the island after the book came out so they tore down (1) the amusement park; (2) the Desoto Beach Club; (3) put an end to the Tybee music festival which always included the Tams and the Swinging Medallions; (4) forced Spanky's to relocate to the other end of the island; (5) made a rule that the Tybee Island Police Department would no longer drive you home if you drank too much ... I could go on. Everything that is cool in that book has been done away with by the City Council.
"Playing Hide and Seek: A non-church goers Guide to God" followed which mostly got me in trouble. Trouble is one of the most consistent things about my life so it didn't bother me too much but it drove poor Bennie Mitchell and the publisher crazy. It also got me this great rejection letter from Tony Compollo who took issue with my Liberation Theology self (he was going to write the preface but then I wrote "No Savior will ever sleep in the White House" and he'd just slept in the White House and well ... it didn't work out).
My dear friend Guy Sayles wanted to write a book together at this point, so we talked and decided to do one titled "Called In/Called Out" but it didn't work out either. I think that Guy got hamstrung by Southern Baptist policy or some bullshit like that. I did write the called out part which turned into "Out From Under the Rock" (get it? "Upon this Rock I will build my Church," Jesus said to St. Peter). It's my favorite so far (but don't tell the other books). I'm not sure why. Guy is the glue that holds the book together and I gave it away to Union Mission to raise money and it did ... like $100,000 or something. But it came at a special time and means special things to me.
Keith was unforgettable. A homeless mentally ill, Vietnam veteran with lupus who I loved so much that I moved him to the Tybee Island nursing home to be near me is the reason "Tour of Homes" was written. It's my epic novel on homelessness and how crazy Savannah is. It's mostly a love letter to Keith who disappeared and I still wonder if he made his way back to the red head.
Then I stopped.
Work became all consuming. My marriage began to crumble. It felt as though rocks were being piled to keep me from doing the things that I'd always done. I became sullen. The creativity remained locked inside. I got depressed.
Then as it was all getting worse ... I started again.
And I worked my way back to me.
So standing naked under the stars this morning, birthing books in my head and heart, loving the people who encourage me with everything in me, I suddenly felt like St. Francis when he took off his robe and tossed it aside to take the hand of Clair ...
And as he did this ...
He changed everything.
