A few months ago, a photographer friend came to my house to take some high-quality shots of yours truly. I generally loathe having my photo taken and loathe even more looking at those photos. More often than not, what I think I’m projecting to the world doesn’t quite square with what has been captured with angles and light. It’s humbling.
I took a little more time trying to hide the shadows underneath my eyes. I even pulled out the mascara and some eyeliner, two tools that live comfortably at the bottom of my makeup bag. For a few moments, I wondered if I should have done something about the salt and pepper look of my hair, but it was too late. If I squinted my eyes, I looked good enough.
The photographer arrived. We hugged and got down to business looking for the best places in my home to get what we needed. I nervously joked with her just a little bit.
“Hey, Barbi, can you make me look forty?” We laughed and just got the job at hand done. I waved at her as she backed out of my driveway with my fingers crossed that there would be at least one shot I felt confident about. This photo wasn’t for the family holiday card or my LinkedIn profile.
For this shot, the stakes were a little higher: I needed it to promote my first novel. I’m closer to 60 than 50, and I just signed a contract with a publisher for a three-book series. My path to publication has not been linear, but I would not change a thing about it. Not one thing.
I have been writing professionally my entire life. I’ve written articles, features, theater reviews, essays, blogs, a column, press releases, annual reports, the whole works since I was in high school. My first pass at the novel about to be released was scratched out with a pencil and a stack of yellow legal pads when I was in my late thirties and in the full throttle of working and raising my family.
When you have three kids, a husband, and two dogs, doing something lofty like writing a book feels self-indulgent. I don’t think anyone was neglected while I did this, but there were times when some kind of witness protection program sounded worth exploring.
I worked closely with an editor, and even pitched the book to agents, getting close to the next step a time or two, but life got in the way. I shelved the book and got on with my other priorities, hoping there would be a season to come that had more room for creativity, a little more time to do what I wanted to do. I’m here to tell you that this has not happened.
I still work full time. Our nest has been sporadically empty, but not in a permanent way just yet. I have been on standby for aging parents, have a yard full of leaves that need raking, and somehow, I’m still responsible for what people are eating next in our home. Let’s just say I am still needed in ways big and small.
Lately, I started putting writing back on the to-do list because it’s fun. One of my writer friends once compared her own relationship with writing to escaping away to meet a lover. I totally relate. Writing is my idea of a good time. I’d pecked just enough short stories together last year that I decided to reach out to my first editor.
He was happy to hear from me, and to read what I had. He encouraged me to pull out that first novel I started 18 years ago and shake off the dust. We both read it again, agreed that it needed a tweak here and there, but still had legs. He suggested that the other two short stories I’d sent him, combined with the first novel, had the makings of a good series. This time, the agent search was easier. We put together a solid pitch, and before I knew it, I had contract.
I think what spurred me to start sneaking away again, to reach back out to the editor, to just take a shot was less about pursuing a goal, and more about seeking joy. When I’m writing, I’m more generous and interested in others. I watch people more intently, think about where they have been and where they are going. I have more discerning eyes and ears than I did back when I started telling this story.
The photos for the book promotion came back. I don’t look forty anymore. I look about my age, and it’s working for me.
To learn more about Anne, visit anneshawheinrich.com.
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