There are moments in every person's life when they decide to do something, knowing full well they are probably going to die in the process. Publishing your first book is very similar in all ways.

Professor Bently would understand. Her eyebrows would ascend a bit, though the serious turn of her lips would never alter. She would call it a 'Literary Moment'. I know better. I would just call it a moment.

I once dove about forty feet from a giant oak tree into a sinkhole, far back in the north Florida woods. As you can assume, I survived. That is the best life example I can give that compares to the venture of my first book.

Standing there on that high branch, gazing down into the glistening azure water, I understood the concept of a world controlled by cause and effect. At that moment you contemplate mortality and you jump. It is not because you are brave. It is because there is simply nothing else to do!

It is called the Leap of Faith. Airline pilots experience it every day landing and taking off multimillion dollar contraptions of technology that for all practical purposes should never leave the ground. But they do, and no one is ever more impressed than the pilots.

The image, that day, of flying through the air is etched deep upon my brain... never to change, as if yesterday. I still can see the sun's affects filtering through a small opening in the trees; enough to see my shadow. As I flew I saw my shadow flying down. First, far away, as if something fell out of a distant tree (which it did!). Then, slowly converging toward me and intersected at the moment of impact; two separate identities becoming one in a dramatic fashion, as if some cosmic truth was being revealed altering a life forever. I don't know about any cosmic truth, but I do remember the top of my head hurting for the next few days.

It was just something you do at the spur of the moment that becomes an integral part of your collection of life experiences for...well, life. It is one of those rituals of youths' Rites of Passage...if you survive and live to tell about it.

The reality of it all, which I never told anyone in fear it would diminish the heroic value of the stunt, was that while I was standing on that limb, I thought I would probably die if I jumped. I also thought I would probably die if I tried to climb back down. So, I figured as long as I was going to die, I wanted to die doing something new. I already knew everything I wanted to know about climbing that oak tree but, I didn't know anything about flying. So I flew.

That is also what did when I published my first book.

We fly against the constant currents of cosmic irony. It is a way that I rationalize the agony of resistance and the rewards of bliss though life's journey; paraphrased from something that I was forced to read in a college writing class. I have always been thankful for Professor Marla Bently's tyrannical passion for good writing. Like a scar for life, I endured the pain of her dogma, always striving, never truly succeed and eternally challenged to live up to a standard with little hope of ever attaining. I now understand there was never a potential for reward with her, only the quest. She was my English/Writing professor and when I wrote my first novel I tried hard not to think about her. But I failed.

The brightest students took her class in spite of the excessive work required. I was one of her 'Turtle' students. She knew there was a spark of something there, something there in the realm of storytelling, but unsure of how and when it might emerge as something useful. She knew the difference between storytelling and writing. But she was not conducting a class in storytelling- she assumed you had to figure that out on your own-her class was about the rules, guidelines and systematic order to gain the necessary skills of a professional writer.

There is still much to be learned from Professor Bently, even though she is now retired, having taught forty-two years grinding thousands of bright minds into brilliant minds. If you ask her about being retired, most likely she would say that she is still a teacher; she never stops teaching and never stops learning. She may offer her opinion about many of her fellow colleagues who can never retire because they never began to teach! But that is another story. It is another very, long story.

When I asked her if she would read my unpublished manuscript her reply was, "no, send her a copy of the book." It was probably her way of warning me about the publishing process. I don't think she expected it to ever get out of manuscript form, most don't. She is a good enough teacher to know what lessons you need to learn yourself. So, I proceeded. I jumped!

When I sent my manuscript to the Story Editor I knew I was going to die. If you are an experienced writer you know the routine. I didn't. I am just an ol', country storyteller, a poet perhaps (see past Poet/Gravity article for more info if you wish). I was hoping for tons of 'mark-ups', 'comments on story structure and character development', but I never expected any. I didn't visualize my manuscript being a symphony of my black text intertwined with collaborative red notes. I only expected a long delay until one day my manuscript would be returned with a brief note attached, no marks, no comments, only a terse, cold, yet sincere apology:

Dear Sir,

I am returning you Manuscript. There is nothing I can do with it...consider plumbing or animal husbandry.

Hilda Swank/ Executive Story Editor.

The phrase Leap of Faith is as common cliche' as any these days. It suggests something you don't think you are able to accomplish, but you try, and succeed. Such, are the illusions we live in today's times. However, the original term suggest you fail most of the time, even die! But you learn hard about Reality.

I never received that note I was expecting. Rather, I got back my manuscript with all the collaboration of black and red that I could have wished for.

The note I got instead said, I like the plot and the characters. Story has a lot of potential. But, we have a lot of work to do!

Eighteen months later I sent Miss Bently a copy of my published book. She read it. She soon sent back a note saying, I enjoyed the read. Characters are diverse and believable. I am looking forward to your next book.

That was it.

Translated I figured she meant she just 'liked it'. Meaning she might give me maybe a 'B+' if I was still in her class. Further reading between the lines, and translating into a college evaluation, Bently-style, I figured I got an 'A' in Character Development; a 'B' in Story Progression and overall Plot and a 'C' in Grammar, Punctuation and generally following those dad-gum' rules of good writing.

Her overall three-part note meant more than the words she wrote. Her first sentence meant she actually enjoyed the story in spite of observing many glaring, professional errors that probably drove her crazy. Her second sentence meant the only strong point was the characters. She always liked my characters. Her third sentence meant she wanted to wait and compare the first book with the next one to see if I learned anything in between the two.

Overall I think she just wanted to convey that after writing the next few million words I might be 'okay'. Hey, I'm encouraged.

If you get a chance, and you believe in something, just do it. But make sure you can do it. Just having a dream is not enough. Remember, most folks die when they leap. If it is not meant to be, it just make things worse. You might waste time that you could be doing something which you are truly good at.

I remember the old Casey Stengel story when he first played pro baseball. The ball fields were not the glamorous ones they are today. They were usually old pastures mowed down or open industrial property. He was playing right field in a boring game where nothing had been hit his way. He noticed that there in the middle of the field was a manhole cover. So, bored, he opened it up, jumped inside and pulled the cover part-way closed. Sure enough a ball soon was hit toward right field. The fans, coaches and players all spun their heads to follow the ball and noticed that there was no one out there to catch it! Still inside the hole, Casey saw the fly ball coming toward him, but waited until the last second. Then, he flipped the cover open, jumped out making a diving catch. The fans went crazy!

He flew!

Years later he told that story: If you are going to do something, do it with without fear. But also as a prophetic warning... you better make sure you catch the ball!