No packing today

A thought keeps knocking on the interior of my forehead -- He who has begun a good work in me will complete it. If that sounds familiar it is because I lifted it from Paul's letter to the Philippians, chapter 1, verse 6.

It has been nearly a year since I typed the last letter in the first draft of the manuscript that tells the story of a 1973 penny's journeys in circulation. It has been seven months since I signed with a literary agent to represent a much-edited version of that manuscript. It has been two weeks since she reported to me yet another publisher's rejection, along with a new publisher's interest in reviewing the manuscript.

In the twilight hours of March 30, 2009, after I saved my rewrites of the first ten pages of a 1938 penny's adventures, I leaned back in my black fake leather, swivel office chair and sighed. Glancing to the shelf where I keep the binder with all the penny stories I have written thus far, I felt tempted to go after a cardboard box and pack the binder away, along with all my penny research and manuscript critiques. I would seal the cardboard flaps with duct tape, scribble "Penny Stuff" with a Sharpie across the sides and top, then lug my box of dreams to the attic.

I told Bill this and he asked me why I even began writing penny stories in the first place. Because, I told him instantly, I want to inspire the imaginations of other people; to have them consider the stories they hold in their hands when counting change, particularly pennies, just as I have. More importantly, I believe I am inspired by God to write these chronicles--to take the least valuable of all coins and share the rich life experiences of the people who hold them through the years.

Okay, so I won't pack the box today. Instead, I will "listen" to my 1938 cent tell me how a young boy depended on it for luck when he was being bullied by a neighbor in West Virginia in 1943. I will listen and then I will transcribe this penny's tales leading up to the time it met my 1973 penny at a bank in Missouri (recorded in chapter one of the first manuscript).

Knock, knock, knock. There is work to complete.