They say it’s not what you know, but who you know. But what if you don’t know who you know?
Let me explain.
It was the summer of 2018. My sister and I, missing our old family dog a little extra that day, had called our pastor and his wife and asked if we could come visit their dogs. We were both sitting on their living room floor, petting the pups and making small talk about the upcoming season, when our pastor turned from his computer and said,
“So, what are your plans for the summer?”
I let my sister answer first while all the possible answers to this question turned around in my head. The truth of the matter was, I’d written a book. I’d edited it until I felt like it was perfect. And this summer, I’d decided to find a publisher (or an agent—whichever said “yes” first).
But was I ready to say it out loud? I was used to getting raised eyebrows and understanding nods from people who thought it was “cute,” or “inspirational” that I was pursuing my “hobby” with such passion. And I felt sensitive about this dream, like if I didn’t handle it with care, it would pop like a bubble and leave me empty-handed. Telling the truth felt like pressing the tip of a needle to a balloon. It was risky.
But, I thought to myself, if I really want to do this—be an author—I need to start telling people eventually. And no one is ever going to believe in my dream if I don’t believe in it, first.
So I told him.
And then he did something unexpected: instead of leaning forward and nodding, or laughing, or raising the dreaded eyebrow, he turned back to his computer.
“I know someone in publishing,” he said. “Let me send him a message.”
My sister and I walked home that night, just before sunset, barely able to speak for excitement. (Well, to be fair, she was excited. I was too shocked to feel anything at all.)
“What if this is it?” she said, grabbing my arm.
“But what if it’s not?” (I can be such a pessimist.)
As impossible as it may sound, we both ended up being right. The publishing contact turned out to be a man named Don who worked at NavPress, and while he connected me with a professional editor and helped me read through my eventual contract with WhiteSpark Publishing, he didn’t publish the book himself. I chalked it up to a great connection and moved on with my career, eventually contracting the sequel to Seeing Voices with the same publisher.
And then, three years and two books later, I found myself still looking for an agent, only to realize that Don had recently made a career change and was accepting queries himself. I held my breath and queried him, and about a month later he had offered to represent me.
I tell this story not to provide another example of how publishing works, or how long it takes, or how full or rejection it can be, although all those things are certainly true. Instead, I keep thinking about the summer of 2018, when I almost kept my mouth shut. When the whole opportunity almost passed me by.
This isn’t a networking success story, because I wasn’t trying to make a connection. I just told the truth about a deeply vulnerable dream I had. And by sharing it publicly, I gave it room to grow.
Olivia Smit loves baking, visiting small towns, and writing stories that face hard truth with hope and encouragement. Her first book, Seeing Voices, is now available. The sequel, Hearing Lies, releases in July. Olivia has an Honours Specialization in Creative Writing, English Language, and Literature. She lives in Ontario, Canada, with her husband and their dog, Cassiopeia. You can learn more at oliviasmit.ca, or on Instagram and Twitter @oliviamsmit.
Anna Zogg