Where’s Waldo

I used to say I wanted to be a writer when I was a kid. Out loud.

I even brought my stories to school for my fourth grade teacher to critique. I proudly wore, then displayed the button she gave me. I still have it.

My kid badge of courage.

Sometime after high school, that courage deflated a bit. I still wrote, but I filed it all away in a large Rubbermaid container.

Part of it was a lack of direction. Part of it was fear.

Because it takes courage to put yourself out there–whether you are making new friends, trying something new, or setting goals toward your dreams. Maybe you hesitate, fill in all the unknown factors with worry, or maybe you paralyze yourself with fear, imagining your hopes floating unattached, like the fluffy bits from a dandelion.

What happens when you put it all out there?

Sure, there are scary things, like rejection.

But, you also leave room for opportunity.

This past week I got the chance to be a literary judge for a local elementary school’s PTA Reflections program. They were looking for a writer. My dandelion bits made their rounds (thank you Andrea!), and they asked me.

The writer.

I don’t think it had anything to do with my once upon a time literary connections.

Hobnobbing with Babar in the 80s.

The opportunity presented itself because I put myself out there.

It’s not always easy to be open, but YAY for new opportunities!

But wait–what does a children’s literary judge wear?

Something classic, maybe Suess-ian or Potter-esque?

Or, perhaps someone more inspired, more representative of Life and the Great Quest . . .

I found Waldo. In my own backyard.

Then I settled down to read the reflections of future artists. The theme this year is Magic of a Moment.

Reading the stories and poems reminded me how much courage abounds in the young.

So, of course, I carefully swept the “magic of a moment” essence off those papers with my unicorn tail hair brush. That sort of pixie dust is akin to the Fountain of Youth.

So if you’re looking to reclaim some of that gutsy kid attitude, I’ve left some on a dandelion in the Jungle of Nool.

Waldo will lead the way.

What are you mustering courage for this week? Are you more of a TRUTH, or DARE person? If you could dress up as any literary character, who would you be?

Let me know in the comments! 🙂

Last week I ran into the grocery store to pick up a few things.

Diced tomatoes. Check.

Cereal. Check.

Bread. Check

BIZ. Huh?

It was a mystery. One I’d written down myself only twenty minutes earlier, and still I stood there in aisle nine staring helplessly at the baking powder and flours, as if they might offer me up some sort of clue as to what BIZ was supposed to be.

But I got nothing. A brain fog—or my “duh cloud” as I’ve recently started calling it—had rolled in, only this time I found myself wondering: What is wrong with me? Am I just tired, or is this one more symptom to add to the list?

Because BIZ hasn’t been the only thing I’ve been wondering about. For the last eighteen months I’ve been dealing with some weird health issues—going several rounds in a game I call Stump the Doctor.

The bonus of the game is learning other random things I didn’t know about myself, like that I was deficient in vitamin D, and that even though I think pizza is the perfect food–my body rejects its gluten and dairy essence. Oh and that I am claustrophobic.

Well, I had my suspicions about that last one, but the two mri’s confirmed it.

Along with something odd showing up in my gray matter.

There’s Waldo, off on a new adventure

So my doctor isn’t sure what Waldo (and his friends) are doing there in my otherwise healthy brain. Or whether or not Waldo’s presence is actually the one causing my limbs to tingle like Bella on the day she met her sparkly Edward or for my right side to occasionally go numb in a way that makes me think I might do well cast as an extra on The Walking Dead.

Or the BIZ brain fog. Surely there’s a chance that my blonde hair is weighing me down, but more likely I am letting the stress of waiting for answers muck up my short-term memory.

That’s kind of what unanswered questions do—they can make you a little crazy sometimes.

Will that boy ever love me?

Am I going to get into the college of my dreams?

What will agent 99 say about my novel? (And will I get the call on my shoe phone?)

And the big one: Am I going to get an answer that I want to hear?

Waiting for those answers is kind of like trying to find Waldo. Sometimes it’s quick and other times we get stuck staring at that page filled with a million characters in varying shades of red and white wondering when we’re going to see him.

If you can’t beat ’em join ’em?

Except turning the page is an option. Waiting doesn’t always have to feel like sitting in Limbo’s plastic chair reading a People magazine from 1999 while time resumes its frenetic pace around us.

Infuse your life with action. Don’t wait for it to happen. Make it happen. Make your own future. Make your own hope. Make your own love. And whatever your beliefs, honor your creator, not by passively waiting for grace to come down from upon high, but by doing what you can to make grace happen… yourself, right now, right down here on Earth.

~Bradley Whitford

In the meantime, I’m gonna keep on keeping on.

First stop is the aisle where they sell the um, B 12.

Because apparently that’s the BIZ.

What do you do when you get stuck waiting on the unanswered questions?

Coleen Patrick

Coleen Patrick children's book author illustrator

Literary Hobnobbing: Let Yourself (and Your Dreams) be Seen

Waiting for the Answers