Book Giveaway:
Mary is offering a signed copy of PROOF OF HEAVEN to 3 commenters. For convenience, please leave your email address within the body of the comment. The winners will be announced next Friday on November 2 between 3-4 EST. For a reading excerpt, please visit on Amazon.
Born on the Day of Dogged Persistence
by Mary Curran Hackett
Several years ago I looked up my birthday
sign in the mammoth Secret Language of Birthdays astrological sign book and discovered that I was born on the “Day of Dogged
Persistence” (March 19). I was struck dumb when I read it. (Believe me, not much does.) Because, nothing and I mean
nothing, matters more in my life than this singular belief that I have held
dear from even an early age: Never ever
give up. I have always believed (some might say rather naively so) that
nothing is out of reach if you want it badly enough--and you’re willing to do
the work to achieve it. Whether I was preternaturally disposed to this belief
or not is up for debate. But I can safely say (thanks to many trials and
tribulations) even if I wasn’t born under said “persistent sign.” no one
character trait matters more to one’s survival (and success) than one’s ability
to persevere. I know this especially when it comes to writing. No one gets to
be a published writer without doggedly pursuing the craft--writing every day,
submitting and submitting (and the requisite--accepting rejection after
rejection), and rewriting and rewriting until you get it right.
And even then…it’s
just the beginning. And sometimes persistence and wanting it badly isn’t enough.
Like everyone
else in the world, I’ve had to face some obstacles along the way. Though my
obstacles--debt, unwed pregnancy, children’s illnesses, husband’s cancer (he’s
recovered) and my own heart condition---are far less monumental than most, I
can say with absolute honesty: it’s not easy to go after what you want.
And lately, I
hate to admit this, but I’ve been wondering if I was born under the wrong sign
after all. Yes, I’ve considered giving it all up--my freelance writing, my
books, everything as I know it.
Just a couple of weeks ago I was ready to close up my laptop--if not
chuck it out the window. I thought that once I got published things would ease
up a bit. But, in reality I found myself trapped in fear and self-doubt: The stakes are higher. Expectations are
higher (mainly my own). People will judge me (sometimes quite viciously thanks
to the anonymity of the internet). There is no guarantee anyone will want to
read my second book. The bills
still come in every day, my kids still want to be fed and clothed (imagine
that), my bosses still want their work done, and my husband still needs his
wife --and writing just seems like a pain, an added nuisance, especially when
it seems like no one is even reading,
buying, or aware that my book Proof of
Heaven exists. (I know this is
not true…but when throwing yourself a pity party--why not go all out?). So I
asked myself: What’s it all for? What am
I doing? Do I still want this? Those are the questions I asked myself again
and again. I went on long walks. I called my sister and brother. I stayed up at
night thinking. I hate to admit this: But I cried. Like a baby. It’s not that I had writer’s block or nothing to write
about (rarely am I at a loss for words--much to my husband and kids’ chagrin),
but I had lost my drive. My desire. My beloved
dogged persistence. And I felt
like I had failed--not just me--but my younger version of myself, my family, my
kids, my husband, my parents, my publisher. Everyone.
Wah, wah. Wah.
I know, I even hate hearing me whine. What I needed was Cher to come and slap
me and say, “SNAP OUT OF IT!”
So without
Cher on call for a good slap, what did I do? I went back to the beginning. I
remembered why I started writing. I remembered when I was a little girl and
loved to read, and believed, however silly and/or audacious it may have been,
that I too could do the same thing someday. I remembered the thrill of hearing
my third grade teacher read my essay about a bird that watched soap operas with
her owner aloud to the class and watching my classmates roar with laughter and
slap their desks as they listened to what I wrote. I remembered the mixture of
joy, sorrow, compassion and gratitude I felt when I received the first letter
from a fan of my novel Proof of Heaven,
who had said she had never felt so connected to a character as she did when she
read my little story about a mother who wouldn’t give up on her son--because
she too was like Cathleen before her only child died.
And with that
proverbially slap, I snapped out of it.
But I also snapped
to another realization and it forced me to revise my belief about persistence. Persistence
is nothing without purpose. My purpose is not to be solvent (let alone
wealthy). It’s not to be a NYT best-selling author. It’s not to be anyone
less--or more--than who I was made to be. It’s definitely not what others
expect me to be. My purpose here
on earth is to do what I love--every day--and to connect with other human
beings struggling to get through each day like I am. And I have to say, once I
figured out that purpose, it’s nearly impossible not to be doggedly persistent
about what it is that I am meant to do: To write and to connect.
And so, I will.
Two Questions for Mary:
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| Courtesy of Google Images |
You've certainly have had your fair share of health concerns through the years. Would you say that your brushes with death have taught you anything in particular about living?
Absolutely. I don’t take any day—any moment for granted. If you’re not living every day like it’s your last, you’re not living. I may hug my kids a little longer, a little tighter than I should, but I don’t ever regret it. I greet them every single morning with a smile and a hug. I make sure no matter what is going on in life—no matter how bad I feel, exhausted, tired, and run down—that they see me happy and smiling, ready to take on the day. I have my moments, believe me, but I want my kids to see life as something beautiful. I make sure we laugh every single day—that there is space for silliness and joy—the spontaneous dance party, milkshake, day off, movie night, Justin Bieber concert. I make sure we watch, listen, and read things that infuse joy and hope into our lives. And I don’t care how busy I am, how many events we have to get to each night, or how many deadlines I have, we eat together every single night—no television, no music, no distractions. I know from my own experience (my mother was big on mealtime bonding) that these are the moments my kids will always remember: All of us together—laughing, talking and being a family. I try to make sure I surround myself with beauty—beautiful souls—my kids, my husband, my sisters, my brothers, my parents, my nieces and nephews, my best friends; beautiful places—my home, my garden, my favorite spaces (bookstores, art galleries, parks); and beautiful things—flowers, clothes, artwork, my kids’ drawings and creations. I don’t sweat the small stuff—petty arguments, politics, haters (bullies, critics), money. Somehow, the bills get paid, and no one who has an opinion on my life has to LIVE my life—so I don’t care what anyone else thinks about how I live my life. It’s not their life to live: It’s mine. It’s a funny thing: when you focus on living your life right, you don’t have much time to make judgments on how anyone else lives. So I spend less time judging, less time being angry, annoyed, bitter, and more time trying to understand, give, and love.
Absolutely. I don’t take any day—any moment for granted. If you’re not living every day like it’s your last, you’re not living. I may hug my kids a little longer, a little tighter than I should, but I don’t ever regret it. I greet them every single morning with a smile and a hug. I make sure no matter what is going on in life—no matter how bad I feel, exhausted, tired, and run down—that they see me happy and smiling, ready to take on the day. I have my moments, believe me, but I want my kids to see life as something beautiful. I make sure we laugh every single day—that there is space for silliness and joy—the spontaneous dance party, milkshake, day off, movie night, Justin Bieber concert. I make sure we watch, listen, and read things that infuse joy and hope into our lives. And I don’t care how busy I am, how many events we have to get to each night, or how many deadlines I have, we eat together every single night—no television, no music, no distractions. I know from my own experience (my mother was big on mealtime bonding) that these are the moments my kids will always remember: All of us together—laughing, talking and being a family. I try to make sure I surround myself with beauty—beautiful souls—my kids, my husband, my sisters, my brothers, my parents, my nieces and nephews, my best friends; beautiful places—my home, my garden, my favorite spaces (bookstores, art galleries, parks); and beautiful things—flowers, clothes, artwork, my kids’ drawings and creations. I don’t sweat the small stuff—petty arguments, politics, haters (bullies, critics), money. Somehow, the bills get paid, and no one who has an opinion on my life has to LIVE my life—so I don’t care what anyone else thinks about how I live my life. It’s not their life to live: It’s mine. It’s a funny thing: when you focus on living your life right, you don’t have much time to make judgments on how anyone else lives. So I spend less time judging, less time being angry, annoyed, bitter, and more time trying to understand, give, and love.
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| Courtesy Google Images |
Without a doubt—I’d hightail it to the quietest, least inhabited, hottest, white sandy, blue water beach on the planet. I’d bring a bag full of books—my old standbys and the stack of books I haven’t gotten to yet that having sitting beside my bed for months, and I’d park myself on a beach chair and read, read, read. I’d occasionally get up to get into the water—and maybe sip a cocktail with an umbrella, but mostly I’d sit and be still. It would be lovely. Actually, I feel better just thinking about it.
Viewers, let's chat: What are you determined to accomplish in your life? Mary will enjoy hearing from you--drop her a line or two!
Author Bio:
Author Bio:
Mary Curran Hackett is a writer and
mother. Like her character Colm Magee, Mary’s heart stops at the “most
inopportune times,” but thanks to a kind doctor, she now has a pacemaker and a
heart that beats on its own—at least most of the time. PROOF OF HEAVEN is her first novel.
Mary is currently working on a collection of real-life stories similar
to Cathleen, Colm, Dr. Basu, and Sean’s quests to find heaven. Feel free to
send your own stories of “proof” to mcchackett@fuse.net or submit them
through her website’s contact form at www.mchackett.com.
