In his recent documentary on Netflix, Martin Short, comedian, offered a startling statistic: “I’d say my career has been 80% failure, and I think that’s pretty good. To make it in this business [showbiz], you need talent and luck and persistence. But no matter how much you have, you won’t succeed unless you’ve got the self-confidence to get out there and fail.”

I don’t know if this is true in all aspects of life, but I suspect it’s true in all the arts (and many other fields).
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As a writer of fiction, memoir, and academic research, I take heart. It’s easy to despair. Sometimes I’m convinced that other writers are more talented, more fortunate, or more persistent, or that success comes to them more easily.

Now, when a rejection letter appears in my inbox or a negative review from a critic, I’ll remind myself, “That’s just part of the 80%. Keep aiming for the 20%.”

I often quote my former colleague at Vanderbilt, Germain Boer. “Never, never, never give up.”

Song of Sugar Sands is on sale now for $1.99 e-book version (regularly $8.99) and Joy After Noon will be on sale starting June 30 until July 6. I'm terrible at technology, so I won't promise my links will work, but maybe if you cut and paste . . . 
https://www.amazon.com/Song-Sugar-Sands-Book-ebook/dp/B07WPFJMX2 (limited time sale for kindle $1.99)

In my novel, Joy After Noon, Joy struggles with self-confidence, making her afraid to confront her husband with some concerns about their marriage.
​https://www.amazon.com/After-Noon-Sugar-Sands-Book-ebook/dp/B07P7S5Y7Z

Take heart and keep reading and chasing your dreams...

Should your work ever become your life? The easy answer seems to me to be no. But what if your work is ministry… or art? Can you really fulfill your potential as a minister or an artist if you treat it like an ordinary job?

I suspect I have sought jobs most of my life that do not completely consume me, my thoughts, or my time. Granted, when I worked as a CPA, there were a few months each year when audits and tax returns absorbed most of my time. Later, as a professor, there were times when a difficult lecture or a troubled student consumed my thoughts after I got home.

Now, as a writer, ideas come to me at unexpected moments. I find that if I fail to commit them to paper (or computer) very soon, they are likely to elude me later. Nonetheless, I’m usually able to put my writing from my mind while I interact with family and friends, while I’m eating or traveling, while I’m living my life.

There are exceptions, of course. When I’m relaxing in a boat zipping across smooth waters or bouncing across waves on a choppy day, my mind drifts to characters and plots from time to time. Still, these moments are not the norm for me.

I think of my family and their choices. My husband retired from his veterinary practice around the age of fifty, in part because of back and shoulder issues but also because he found it so difficult to relax and put work matters aside. Often he was on call, and calls came in at the most inopportune times.

One of his veterinary partners, whose son played quarterback for his high school team, told my husband, “I’ve never been able to watch an entire football game of my son’s without interruption.”

When my husband, Norm, was on vacation, he’d grumble, “Everything will be twice as hectic when I get back to work.”

When he told his decision to retire early to his managing partner, the man said, “You’ll be back. Mark my words.”

The partner was wrong. When people ask if he misses it, Norm says, “I’ve never looked back.” I cannot say the same about my retirement, but I can say, “I rarely look back.”

My daughter gave up a profitable career as a commercial real estate appraiser to focus on her family. Later, she spent a lot of time writing lesson plans and devotionals for Sunday School programs. Eventually she said no to those as well.

“Maybe, when the kids are out of school, I’ll go back to it,” she says, “or maybe I’ll look into graduate programs in theology.”

Yesterday, she told me, “I’m happy. We’re happy with our choices.”

Life offers so many challenges and wonders beyond the workplace. Because these find their way into my writing on occasion, I wonder if I’d be a better writer if I allowed them to consume me more completely.

I guess I’ll never know. I guess I don’t want to know. Work hard, play hard…this has always been my way. I do not look forward to the day when I’m unable to do either.

I wonder if men struggle with their work-life balance more than women. In Song of Sugar Sands, Acadia thinks her husband may be focusing too much time on his job even though his job is to minister to his church. Although it's the second book in my Sugar Sands series, it's actually set earlier than Joy After Noon.

Today I received images of the cover for my new novel, coming soon (tentatively fall of 2026), Girl From Bell City Bottom.

https://www.amazon.com/Song-Sugar-Sands-Book-ebook/dp/B07WPFJMX2

​Now the official tour has begun. This is our first time on a Gate1 tour, and we are lucky in that ours is a fairly small group, only about 20 people. We’ve heard that Gate1 often has around 50 participants, and Covid spreads frequently on tours.

So far no one in our group is masking, not even us. Norm is still jet lagged, so I hope he doesn’t get Covid too. I rarely drink alcohol, but last night the group went to a farm and winery, and the wine was flowing.

“This white wine is delicious,” I said. “Pour me a tiny bit more.”

Norm shot me a look. He knows I’m prone to migraines. “They do say European wines often have fewer additives, so it might be okay,” he reminded me.

“That’s right—like nitrates or nitrites or something. More water too, please. In fact, let’s ask for another bottle of water.” I try to drink at least equal amounts of water on those rare occasions when I do consume alcohol at all.

The two women sitting across from us were being served a delicious-looking plate of vegetables, and I eagerly awaited mine. And waited. Eventually we received instead a platter for our end of the table of salami, raw ham, and cheese, as well as olives and sundried tomatoes.

It all looked lovely but also very salty, another migraine trigger. “Could I get some of those vegetables?” I asked the server.

She shook her head. “Those ladies do not eat pork.”

“Oh, I see.” My disappointment must have shown.

“Are you not happy?”

“Well, I love wine and salty food, but they don’t always love me.” At ninety-three, my mother still salts her food. But for me, the less salt I eat, the more sensitive my body becomes to it.

“What do you want?”

“Vegetables or salad, if you have any.”

She returned with a plate of vegetables, but she behaved furtively. “Since you are at the end of the table,” she said, “but don’t let anyone see you or everyone will want special treatment.”

I got her point, but I was grateful for the vegetables. I had a nice chat with the non-pork eaters, who live not far from my son in California. One of them has a daughter in Oregon, a state I have yet to visit.

“Our hotel in Florence was really close to the Gucci Palace,” I told them.

“Was it nice?”

“It wasn’t huge, but I liked it. There was this red coat on display that looked just like my new winter coat. Except for the buttons.”

“Is yours a Gucci?” my husband asked.
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“Are you kidding? I got mine at Old Navy, but I could change out the buttons,” I said.

There was this one room where they only let about five or six people in at a time. We were about to give up and leave when our turn came.”

“What was in there?” one of the women asked.

“A mysterious machine that told your fashion fortune when you pushed a button. I pushed the wrong button and the machine caved in,” I said. “The attendant looked really upset. But it came back.”

“Did you get your fortune?”

“Yep. It says, Wear the thing you were saving for a special occasion.”

“Good advice.”

“I’m going to try to remember it,” I agree.

By the time we left on our bus, we were all full, and spirits were high.

“Would you like some music?” our tour guide, Daniele, asked.

“Yes!” “Yes!” “Yes!” “Please!” everyone chimed.

We swayed and tapped our toes to Bocelli, Frank Sinatra, Sweet Caroline, YMCA, and It’s Amore. You get the picture.

I was feeling good, but later had trouble sleeping. “Ask future Debra,” my son says when I contemplate drinking wine.

I know he’s right, but I do appreciate the aroma and the taste. We did not buy a bottle. “We don’t have the space in our luggage,” my husband said.

Yesterday ended our first full day on the tour, and we spent most of it in Siena. Inside the cathedral, we saw statues by Michelangelo, frescoes by Rafael, and a statue of John the Baptist by Donatello. “The Mutant Ninja Turtles,” my husband said.

I cannot remember if we still have a stuffed Mutant Ninja Turtle hanging in our son’s old bedroom. It hung there for years after he left for college, as if awaiting his return.

Today the group traveled to Florence from our hotel in Montecatini Terme. Because they will be largely following the same path as our walking tour a few days ago, we chose to stay here.

This area is known for thermal activity, so I’ve booked an outing this afternoon to a thermal pool with a grotto cave called Grotta Giusti, where we’ll experience Dante’s Inferno (coming soon). We’ll need a taxi to get there, unlike the gelato shop, which is right next door.

Tomorrow we head to Cinque Terre (part of the Italian Riviera), which is quite steep, I understand. Rain is forecast, but I’m hoping for partial sunshine.

No air conditioning in this hotel until June, and the rooms get a bit stuffy at night. It’s windy though if you open the windows. Hotel is called Grand Hotel Plaza and Locanda Maggiore. Despite what the internet said, the outdoor pool here is not heated. Hotel is nice, though, and food is good.

Colossians 4: 6 Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt so that you may know how to answer everyone.

Stay safe, and keep reading (I finished The Correspondent and now I’m rereading Flashlight. I recommend both.)
The Past Ever Present: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B091F3MN3R (only 99c to buy on Kindle)