Wednesday at the conference, I wondered what I was doing there. The talks were interesting, but didn't seem to pertain to anything I was doing. I sat through a session on How to Pitch a Book to Publishers, and wondered if I'd ever get a chance to use that information. I went home satisfied with having met a few Catholic writers I had admired from afar, and a few I'd never heard of, but still unsure I really needed to be spending the time, energy, and money we didn't seem to have to be there.Read it all in Rebecca's "Seeing the Hand of God."
Wednesday evening, as I headed for home, I prayed "God, if this is where I'm supposed to be, can you make it obvious? If writing isn't what you plan for me, can you make that obvious, too? I'm not doing too well with subtle here. I need you to whack me over the head with it." ...
(Though, having just read The Stand, the Hand of God means something completely different than this story ... one difference being that that was fiction and Rebecca's story definitely is real.)
