I’ve never been one for biographies. I mean, trivia is interesting, sure. But read an entire book on someone else’s life? If I wanted to wallow in banalities, I’ve got my own life. Give me fiction any day. Now, though, I am beginning to see the point of biographies: Perspective.
The other day I (re)read that Stephen King repeated the first grade because he missed so much school. That’s one of those facts that elicits a “huh” until you have a 5-year-old who incubates every single germ that comes her way. Now I am wondering if they make kids repeat pre-K.
Also, the rejections. Stephen King was rejected. JK Rowling was rejected. Over and over and over again. What little I know of JK Rowling’s life encourages me enormously, in fact. Not that I think I have an ounce of her talent. But I am heartened to think that things could have been that bad for her, yet turn around so dramatically. Perhaps my situation will also turn around.
Even just a little bit.
I’m struggling, I admit. I’m trying so very hard to put a brave face on it, but I’m down and I cannot figure out which way is up. It feels like the time I nearly drowned as a child. I went down the slide at the lake, even though I knew I wasn’t a strong swimmer. And went down deep, deep into pickle-green water. Everything looked the same. And I swam in several directions without breaking the surface. Long enough to nearly run out of air. Finally, I remembered that I float. I held still and let my air take me to the surface.
So I’m holding my breath, and hanging on to the stories of others who’ve made it to the surface.