Trusting the Process
By Sarah Callender | March 2, 2023 |
Once upon a time there lived a generally charming teenage boy. He was kind to neighborhood animals and younger sisters, and was both a speedy runner and a solid violist.
He was wonderful in every way EXCEPT the boy did not like to study. He especially disliked studying for the SAT, even after his mother supplied him with a phonebook-size book of practice exams, and numerous gentle and eventually not-so-gentle reminders that the SAT was an important part of his upcoming college application.
To please his parents, the boy pretended to study for the SAT, but when the boy received his SAT score, the proof was in the pudding: he had not studied, not a jot!
When the mother fretted, her son patted her arm. Mother, he said, stop your fretting. You must just trust the process!
The woman fretted further. How could she have birthed such a lazybones?
Then–alas and alack–there blossomed a global pandemic, and amid the chaos and tragedy, colleges across America no longer required SAT scores.
You see, Mother? the boy said. You must just trust the process!
Later, when the mind-numbing tedium of online school made the boy focus on Xbox instead of homework, and the boy’s mother, a teacher, had her own students to teach online and could not pay adequate attention to the boy’s screen time, she realized his GPA would most certainly tank.
But then there came merry news: the boy’s school district requested that teachers show leniency in their grading! The boy’s GPA would not be harmed!
You see, Mother? the boy said. You must just trust the process!
In fact, the boy was admitted into a college, a school where, in addition to getting a degree, he could run XC and play viola. Even better, they offered generous financial aid!
In the fall of the boy’s first year, his mother and father journeyed by carriage to attend Parents’ Weekend. Here, they would see their son’s new life, hear his first orchestra performance, and perhaps select for him a suitable bride.
They scooped up the boy at his dormitory, then hastened to Meatheads Union Tavern–the boy’s request–where they enjoyed a delicious lunch that did indeed involve much meat.
As they dined, the mother smiled fondly at her son, and noting he had BBQ sauce on his face, offered him a napkin.
And what, dear boy, she said, are you required to wear for this evening’s orchestra performance?
Her son wiped his face. Dr. L says either tuxes or long blacks. He shrugged. So, black khakis and a black shirt?
The mother frowned. Does not Dr. L mean the men to wear tuxes and the women to wear long black skirts and long sleeves?
The boy’s face turned suddenly pale. The boy’s parents glanced at each other, then back at the boy who had pulled out his phone. Maniacal thumb-typing commenced.
After a few tense moments, the boy’s phone pinged. He read the message. He pushed his meat-laden plate away.
I must hasten to the dorm, he said, for it seems I do need a tux.
What the mother wanted to say: You think you can find a tux in a dorm of first-year goofballs? A tux that fits your 5’11” and 135-pound frame? Before tonight’s performance?
What the mother said: Oops.
Indeed, the boy’s father agreed. Oops.
It was exceedingly tempting for the parents to try to save the boy, to see whether Amazon could deliver a tux post haste, or to check the single, local tuxedo rental shoppe. But a bit of maniacal Google searching showed the only such establishment was open from 12:00-4:00 on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
It was 3:00 on a Friday.
Their son was royally screwed. At the evening’s concert, he would be the only one clad in business casual. Would he lose his music scholarship?
But when the boy’s parents arrived at the concert–an out-of-doors production, where cicadas provided a musical amuse bouche, and lights, strung across 200-year-old black oaks, danced like fireflies in gentle breeze–they spotted their boy. Dressed in a tuxedo. It fit perfectly.
The boy offered a roguish wink. TRUST THE PROCESS, he mouthed.
Yes, the mother realized. It was true. She needed to adopt her son’s mantra!
So, a few months later, when the woman’s husband was laid off, the woman chose to TTP. When a loved one experienced devastating professional devastation, the woman urged her to TTP. When a dear friend’s son managed to select a paramour who was a colossal trainwreck, the woman nudged her friend to TTP.
The woman continued TTP-ing her way through her life, and then, not eight months later, she received the happiest of news: her first novel had–after ten years of rejection–sold to a publisher!
The woman scribbled the happy announcement on a notecard, then asked a man on horseback to deliver the news to her son. The man returned a few weeks later, quite weary from riding so many miles to deliver a message that could have been sent via text. But he handed her the boy’s response (which also could have been sent via text).
Congratulations, Mother! the note read. You see? Good things happen when you trust the process!
For someone who did not like to study, this boy was remarkably wise. Trusting the process was the secret to selling a novel to a publisher. How simple! How straightforward!
<THE END>
HOLD ON!
Something was troubling the woman.
Her son had found good fortune with his SAT and GPA, but was the reliance upon a once-a-century pandemic a process? Likewise, her son had found a 5’11, 135-pound XC teammate who had a tux crammed under his bed. This too, was more godsend than process.
And what of the sale of the woman’s novel? If the book deal was the result of process-trusting, what was the process she had trusted? She racked her brain, racking and racking for something resembling a process, but she came up empty-brained.
So what, then? Was selling a manuscript after a decade of rejection merely luck?
Aye.
Also nay.
Because while there seemed to be no single, clear process that guaranteed publication, writing a book required commitment. Commitment to honing one’s craft. To putting rump in chair and pen to paper even on days when the act seemed harebrained and futile.
And writing a book required faith: that quiet, baseless, somewhat embarrassing certainty that someday, and in some way, things would work out. (Though to be sure, how things worked out might be a far cry from what the writer had initially envisioned.)
And writing a book required humility. There would be much rejection, little glory, zero income. And others would assume that, in fact, you were on a fool’s errand.
No, the combination of commitment, faith, and humility were not, in and of themselves, a process. But writing a book, much less getting one published, could not happen without the presence of all three.
And of course, a bit of luck never hurt.
<THE BEGINNING>
Your turn, dear reader. In what ways have you been lucky? Where have you had to TTP in your writing journey? What does your “process” entail?
Thank you, as always, for reading and sharing.
A Middle Grade novelist (and Middle School English teacher), Sarah Callender lives in Seattle with her family. Because Sarah dislikes cleaning anything that will just get messy again, she tidies the house and weeds the yard only when absolutely necessary. This allows her time to focus on her true–and somewhat fraught–passions: writing, Abe Lincoln, and Tony’s Chocolonely chocolate bars. Equally passionate about mental health advocacy, Sarah is a member of The Stability Network. Sarah’s first novel, LUCY IN BETWEEN, will be published by Margaret Ferguson Books/Holiday House in 2026.
[coffee]
Sarah, thanks for sharing such a funny true fairy tale. And congratulations on your book. I’m so happy that your perseverance paid off. And you know what they say about luck — it’s when hard work meets opportunity. I’ll add Trust the Process to my list of mantras. P.S. Congratulations on resisting the urge to drive 500 miles to find your son a tux. Had to sit on your hands, eh?
Yes, Lorraine! It was SO hard not to rescue him … my husband actually did find a different tux store that was open … the conversation went a little something like this:
Husband: Hi, so we’re looking for a tux for our son. He’s 5’11” and 135 pounds. Would you have something that fits him?
Tux Guy: Sure! Absolutely! When do you need it?
Husband: Um … in three hours? But preferably two hours?
Tux Guy: hahahahahahaha!
It was then that we had to surrender and trust the boy’s process-less process. TTP-ing, I have come to realize, 51% liberating. :) Thank you for taking the time to share your kindness and, it seems, a bit of empathy!
TTP – I do nothing but TTP and that’s the problem…I would be nice to get beyond TTP into the real world! Cheers, well done, a delightful read!
Thank you, Claude! And yes, I guess there is a balance. I often struggle with the concept of balance in my life. I am, perhaps like most of us, a work in progress.
Did you write this for me? My youngest son has always lived by TTP, and he married a wonderful girl who also lives by TTP. My husband and I, both Type A organized planners, are trying really hard not to intervene with our sage advice (which they wouldn’t follow anyway), because…well…we’re learning how to TTP. In my novel writing, I now also strive to include this, since the whole publishing process is so fraught with decisions and worries and frustrations. I’m using my multi-talented TTP son’s joy and positive outlook as my guide.
Yes, Diane! My husband and I are both type-A firstborns, so of course, we assumed our son, the firstborn, would follow suit. Sometimes, there’s an absence of suit-following … which results in tux-searching. As I have watched my son grow, I have on MANY occasions, envied his TTP attitude. It really is liberating. Thank you for your fun and funny comment. Happy TTP-ing to you!
Kudos, Sarah! Perhaps TTP involved being guided to read your piece today. Writing and life, don’t we know, are
journeys.
I can’t wait to read your book.
Write on and TTP!
So true, Rose! The older I get, the more I appreciate the beautiful challenges that arise in our various journeys. I do think “the right timing” is an important and underappreciated aspect of the writing journey. We just have to be ready to strike when the iron’s hot … no easy feat when most of us aren’t professional blacksmiths. Thank you for your sweet and generous comment. Happy writing to you.
SARAH!!!!! This is such a lovely and close-to-home post. I do not like trusting the process because it cannot be tidily controlled, but I’m learning that control isn’t a guarantee either. RIght now I’m abandoning my outline and just trusting the process that this WIP will turn out well. (Also, for years I have gone around quoting this line from Shakespeare in Love – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4XkPUwwYpA0&ab_channel=MoviQuotes). Congratulations a thousand times on your novel!
Liz!!!!! I love that quotation so much … I wish I were British. I think I would be much posher and elegant if I were. I recently was flattened by Covid, and I got sucked in to British period dramas on PBS’s Masterpiece theater. I love everything but the corsets and the gelatinous meat pies … and I also don’t think I would be so good at played cards all the time. I am crap at card games.
Darling Girl was so amazing. Whatever combo of TTP-ing and butt-in-chairing you did was the secret to success … that, and a bit of mystery! Hugs to you.
“”I do not like trusting the process because it cannot be tidily controlled, but I’m learning that control isn’t a guarantee either.
This x a million.
Sarah, this post brought me so much joy! Trusting the process is a leap of faith & hope. The belief that things WILL work out, someday, somehow, is key to writing, but it’s felt in short supply recently. Thank you for the reminder! As a parent of teens, I nodded along with your story–while laughing hard. Congratulations on the publication of Between the Sun and the Oranges! I look forward to reading it in 2024.
Dear Christine. Thank you for sharing … I know what you mean about the challenge of faith “supply-chain” issues. Those are dark times. Keep going, keep going, keep going. And, do you remember all of those What to Expect pregnancy books … and then all of the “how to parent toddlers” books? Where the heck is the “parenting adult children” collection? We should write one; empathy and laughter is the key to survival.
xo!
Thanks, Sarah for sharing this. I always love your posts. Luck, trusting the process, faith and even the small efforts contribute to what we do. Also timing. Years ago I wrote a small personal essay for a devotional-type book. Along with publishing my story I’d hoped to get a payment of $25, but the editor said (once she accepted my piece) that she couldn’t offer payment this time around. I did get one copy. Just last week a woman contacted me ask said she read my story, enjoyed it so much that she looked for me on the internet. She found my website (which didn’t exist until two years ago), and asked if I could help her and her sister write their own story. It’s nice to know that even the small things along the way can be part of the process. Best to you with the publication of your first book!
Yes, Carol! This is the perfect example … we never know when the little moments, coincidences, crossing-of-paths, writing gigs, etc. will lead to something cool and exciting. We should probably add “put yourself out there” and “try new stuff that makes you happy” as elements of the writing process. And the element of good timing (or even “the right” timing) never fails to astound me.
My book (which is for middle school readers) was passed up was many times because publishers of children’s fiction wouldn’t touch suicide. (There’s a character in the book who dies by suicide.) Well, then a pandemic hits, mental health issues abound, the rates of deaths by suicide are rising every year, and grownups realize that we need to be talking about “the ‘s’ word.” The book that was ready in 2012 was not ready for the world until 2022 … I don’t want to call it “good” timing because the decline in children’s mental health is 100% tragic. But it’s definitely the “right” timing.
Thank you, Carol, for sharing!
What a great post, Sarah!
I suspect your son will do well with his mantra. At the very least, it could save him from the high stress plaguing people today. And he comes by it naturally, which is amazing. My teenage girls are the opposite. They face life with gusto and conviction, and I have to constantly remind them to TTP. As the song goes, “The sun can’t shine every day.”
Ah, parenting. LOL.
Hugs
Dee
Dear Denise. Your daughters sound a lot like my daughter. And your reminder about sunshiny days is a great one. I was born and raised in CA but have lived in Chicago and in Seattle. I much prefer a range of weather. Too many sunny days get tedious, and too much sun gives me age spots and moles that are scary. But really, it’s during the frigid temps and storms that our mettle is tested (whatever mettle is) and our character can grow. It’s never comfy though.
You’re a great mom, I know this for sure! Happy writing and parenting to you.
:)
Sarah, love this post. We all need a little TTP….and maybe your son has some secrets as to how that truly works. I think it is very much due to the loving and inspirational home he was raised in. Sometimes we are gobsmacked when our children out-race us. But that is the entire point to parenting. They watch our struggle and our success, only to double-down and pass us by. One generation after another. It’s how the world spins. Parenting works both ways..see what I do, but then, create your own life.
Dear Beth. Thank you for your words here … you are so generous. It really is amazing how our kids can pass us by … and it’s so wonderful when they do. And so humbling too! You’re the best. :)
Ah, this was so delightful! While I’m not a parent, I have niblings who are in high school, and friends with college-age kids, so I found myself nodding along and chuckling.
It’s been a TTP sort of week here, as I pause between one drafting step and another. I’d love to press on, but realize it’s better to wait until I have a clearer sense of the next step/scene (which of course sounds far more leisurely and whimsical than it really is). So I keep letting the ideas percolate and scribbling notes.
Many congratulations on the book–I am so glad it’s on its way to readers!
Dear Alisha, yes! That’s a perfect TTP moment. You might be a professional TTP-er? Like, perhaps you have a PhD in TTP? xoxo! Happy writing to you.
LOL, apparently I made the TTP look easy? It’s rather hard-won, but during the pandemic I finally started to get the hang of the thing where I realize forcing the issue (the drafting, whatever) tends to backfire, and I’ll get back to words-on-page sooner if I chill out. Letting things percolate is NOT slacking.
Very nice post, Sarah. I always enjoy your style. As a world-class procrastinator and lifelong space cowboy, I am well aware of TTP. As you pointed out, however, one does need to be committed to *something,* and we’ll do better if we remain humble about our situation.
Hi Michael. Great words from a lifelong space cowboy. You and Bezos, I think?
Thanks for the very kind comment. Whenever someone says, “Well, JK Rowling got rejected twelve times!” I roll my eyes. Twelve times?!?!? That’s nothing. So yes, I have had ample opportunity to be (and stay) humbled. It’s good role modeling for my kids … for my students too.
Giddyup!
I always adore your posts, Sarah. :) First off, so many congratulations on the publishing deal! That is so exciting! Second, I’ve been mulling over the TTP aspects of painting and writing for a while now, especially when (in painting) the early stages look so infantile and (in writing) I have so much trouble answering people’s questions about my “process” and everything I say sounds disappointing to me (because so many of my answers come with caveats like, “I’m not sure…” and “I don’t really remember…)” I can say with confidence that my “process” involves gathering, thinking, linking, laying out, folding over, doubling back, and following along to the end of various threads. Beyond those vague actions, it’s anyone’s guess. :)
Sarah, my process involves procrastination, profanity, jealousy, burst balloons, a wavering heart, resignation and resumption, in various measures depending on the project. This process is not trustworthy, but like a dog (I think his name is Sisyphus) with a too-chewed bone, he returns to over and over again. There is comfort in old (bad) habits. But objectively, trying not to sway with every staggered beat of the off-kilter metronome in my head, I have so much to be grateful for.
Thanks for a fun post. And get that kid some pasta and cheesebread—having been 5′ 11″ and near 135 myself at one point (up and out since then), I was sometimes mistaken for a hat rack. Now I am a much more manly traffic signal.
Sisyphus is a *great* name for a dog. Or a rock band.
Dear Tom,
When you say, “burst balloons,” do you mean latex? mylar? animal? I like the image of a pile of burst balloons, once shaped like poodles and giraffes, on the floor beside your writing desk. But seriously. When you say, “manly traffic signal,” do you mean a mustachioed traffic signal? I like the image of traffic signals with facial hair at every intersection. Seattle needs that. I bet Portland already has that.
BUT SERIOUSLY. Thank you for these beautiful and funny words. I’m so glad you’re here (both on the planet and at WU). Happy writing!
Sarah, my balloons all look, suspiciously, like Vincent Price. And now that you bring it up, traffic signals with facial hair could be a fine thing, though there would be the inevitable community arguments about their grooming. Thanks for the fun!
Sarah, Thank you for sharing your story. It gives hope to all of us who struggle on the journey to find a home for their writing. Congratulations on the publishing deal for your book.
Oh yes, Steve. And frankly, anyone who has NOT struggled to find a home for their writing is quite simply not to be trusted. That’s the blessing (one of many) of WU … we’re all in this crazy boat together. The SS Rejected-yet-Tenacious. Thanks for taking the time to comment!
Our children are wondrous, no? I love that at such a tender age your son knows about trusting the process, which is really about surrendering control. I’ve always loved Louis Pasteur’s “Fortune favors the prepared mind.” The borrowed tux appeared at just the right time. I didn’t have a name for it as a child, but now I recognize all those moments of taking a leap of faith, of surrendering, and discovering that the net appears as TPP. I wish I could learn to let go too with the writing–I used to, when I first began, when I didn’t know any better, but something about learning the craft, the rules, the business, etc. I lost some of the spontaneity of letting the story lead me (my internal editor never shuts up) but I’m trying to return to that state. My process is quite like Tom’s above :)
Congratulations on your book deal! What a happy ending…and beginning!
Hello, dear Vijaya! Isn’t Tom’s process the best? He should patent it before I plagiarize and adopt is as my own.
I love your point about “not knowing any better.” It’s so true. There is both bliss and freedom when we are in a state of ignorance … also (I find) a LOT of inefficiency. Flick that internal editor right off your shoulder. That guy/gal has no place anywhere near your talented, generous brain.
Happy writing and parenting!
Cogent advice, with the possible exception of the phone book reference. The last time I saw a Seattle phone book the size of a phone book was….hmmmm, brain freeze. Can’t remember back that far.
Ha! I acknowledge that the reference might have confused some of WU’s whipper-snappers. At least I didn’t mention a rotary dial phone or a roll-a-dex file? Happy writing to you!
Brilliant. I couldn’t stop reading this. Thank you. TTP will become my new mantra.
What a kind comment, Shanda. Thank you. :)
Thanks for the smiles and the wisdom. What a delightful post!
Ha, no wisdom here! I hope I can find some to impart in my 60s. So far, no luck. I’m as bumbling as they come. But thank you for taking the time to chime in, dear Kristan!
Delightful post, Sarah. It made me smile one a day when I really needed one.
I would add one more ingredient to TTP: connections. I got my first writing job through a neighbor who was also a textbook editor. Since I was a freelancer, a contract worker, she recommended me to other editors, who connected me with some of their project managers who needed writers on other subjects. Take-away: The Process doesn’t end with you. It ripples out like a rock tossed in a pond. You never know where it will lead.
Dang, yes! So true. Thank you for adding this important (even essential) element. And I love the imagery you create here. It’s kind of exciting to discover how a connection, especially one that seems small or inconsequential, can lead to opportunity. And how we can help others find surprising opportunities. Thank you for sharing that idea here, Christine.
I love a story with a happy ending, and yours certainly has that, Sarah! Congratulations on your debut novel success – I can’t wait to read it! Thanks for encouraging and nudging your fellow authors forward with this charming, funny piece. TTP, along with all the other steps we take between story concepts to (hopefully, someday) publishing are SO worth it if our stories ultimately help readers. That’s what keeps my keeps my fingers typing as I revise my MG debut, Unearthed Magic (which does, btw, have a happy ending).
Suzanne, congratulations on having an MG novel to revise! That, in itself, is wondrous. Keep those fingers typing … I hope you are enjoying this part of the writing process. I find each stage to be its own unique adventure.
Thank you for taking the time to weigh in here … and for sharing your kind words.
Hi, Sarah! I’ve been offline for a few days and just found your delightful article. Congratulations on your debut novel!! Perseverance paid off. And thank you for a fun read and sage advice that I appreciate seeing this very day. I’m going to make a poster with TTP in primary colors and hang it in my writing space. All best to you and that novel!