She Persisted Project

Not Changing the World - Jesse Sprague

I don't know when to quit.

Once I've made a stand, I never understand when it's time to back down or give up. This has caused me trouble more times than I can count. I'll argue a point endlessly, and nothing changes my mind.

Oddly, this is a trait my mother bred into me, or more accurately didn't train out of me. She did this to me on purpose.

On more than one occasion, I've come to Mom and asked "Why?" Why did she endure my stubborn nature? Why not teach the power of backing down politely and graciously remaining silent? Life would be so much simpler and more people would like me.

And her answer was always the same. "A woman needs that strength and perseverance. Sure, your stubbornness made a mess of things on occasion... but I couldn't break your spirit. Too many forces in life will try to silence you. That's the plight of women in this society: your silence and submission are what's valued."

Then she'd give me that mother-patented "I know better" stare and say, "Your voice may not change the world, but it's yours and don't ever let anyone take that away from you."

As a teenager, I hated Mom for her methods. All the boys at school saw me as either a bitch, a nerd or a mother figure. I tried to teach myself to be submissive, but it wasn't in me. So I found an outlet for my spirit and funneled myself into my writing.

Writing has been a part of me since I can remember. I wrote my first novel in elementary. But in junior high the written word rose to a new level for me. I wrote, and because I wrote, I was. In the Fantasy worlds I created on paper, no one judged me for not playing stupid—in fact, men there liked smart, opinionated women and didn't call them bitches at all. In the worlds I'd built, women could be lovable and speak their minds.

I hid in fiction, which was far more pleasant than reality.

I think Mom was always a bit disappointed in me for not taking to politics. In her mid-twenties, she'd joined a commune. She'd chosen fathers for her children not for love but for genetic compatibility. She joined marches, petition and sit-ins. Mom was a feminist and an activist in every sense. Even when Mom married my biological Dad, she kept her last name.

And then there was me. I wrote Fantasy because the real world was too cold. I didn't want to watch the news because it was depressing. And I rolled my eyes at the constant talk of feminism. By the time I left home for college, I wondered if I was anything like the daughter she'd envisioned.

In college, I learned many things. One was that Fantasy was a waste of time (so said every professor and the other English Majors.) After having my writing rejected and getting blank stares from everyone I opened up to about the worlds in my head, I put more and more focus into more "practical" things. What writing I did was hidden away like porn.

After college, I followed the prescribed path and got an office job. I didn't have time to write and after years of being told how worthless my words were, I did the unthinkable. I quit.

Life went on. When I got married, I took my husband's last name. When I had a kid, I chose to be a stay-at-home mom.

That last one was hard to tell Mom. I thought she'd look down on me. After all, hadn't she taught me to be smart? Didn't she send me to college, so I'd never have to depend on any man? Hadn't she trained me to be my own person, not half of someone else? And here I was, putting away a career and focusing on raising a child.

But Mom didn't judge. She said, "That's what feminism is, Jesse. This is what I fought for, so you could choose."

She was okay with the choice? I couldn't believe it, but she was. I saw no judgement from her—on that point.

What Mom spoke out on was me putting giving up writing. I gave her my excuses. I didn't have time. And after all, what did my words matter?

Despite all Mom's effort, I did lose my voice. I had forgotten to speak and got busy with the everyday. In being told the path to follow, I forgot there were other choices. Get a degree. Get a job. Work. Work... oh, the amount of work. Then get married and have a child. I took what life gave me and said, "This has to be enough."

I may have given up. But my mom didn't.

She was my advocate when I'd forgotten I needed one, forgotten that I had anything else to give the world. My life was picture perfect, but I was lost in it.

Then one day, Mom told me she knew this publisher who went to church with her. Should she speak to him about me—get some advice?

I told her no.

Mom talked to the publisher anyway. I'm not the only one in my family who doesn't know how to quit.

She'd told him all about my writing. Told him how good I was. And apparently, he wanted to see something from me.

I brushed her off, citing that I hadn't written anything in years. I didn't have time. I had no worthwhile input. Plus, the world didn't want to hear what I had to say.

For two weeks, she kept asking me to send something. And asking. And asking. She knew how stubborn I was. And eventually, I agreed to send the publisher an old work. Mostly because in my heart of hearts, acknowledgement was what I wanted. Before sending the novella off, I opened it up. And I fell headlong into my words.

I realized looking at that novella that though I chose my life path, I'd lost something essential in myself. The publisher loved my novella, and with a lot of effort and time, I have since been published. But I recall that moment so clearly, when I first picked my own work back up and realized what I'd let happen in my life.

After all Mom's efforts to teach me to be strong and persevere, I hadn't. Turns out the world had finally taught me to quit. Worn me down so that all I had was the will to survive. Also, it turns out that wasn't a lesson I wanted to learn.

I've never known when to quit. And quitting was the worst choice I ever made. No more quitting for this woman. I've heard "no" more times than I can count since picking up writing. I've taken every form of criticism and given every night (except Friday date night) to my craft. And I'm here to say, I will persist.

It doesn't matter how loud my voice is—it's mine. No one will take it from me.

So here it is, Mom. I'm using my voice.

This is me saying I am here and will not be silenced.

Jesse Sprague is the author of AWAKE, a modern fairy tale retelling that's part of the ONCE UPON NOW anthology published by Gallery Books in October 2016.

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This was the introduction to what we're aiming to do and our collection will officially continue in a few weeks. How do you like it so far? Are you inspired yet?