Earlier this week, I was working on a client’s manuscript… (Actually, I’ve been working on this one so long the client is now a good – although living in another hemisphere – friend.) As I was saying; I was working on his manuscript tidying, correcting spelling and rethinking the structure of the entire chapter. I had a little stray thought: Perhaps I should forget my own dreams and concentrate on helping others fulfill their’s. After all, I think I’m reasonably good at being an editor. On the whole, my clients do well. Some have even won an award or two. Maybe this is my “great calling” and writing is/was just a daydream?

There’d be no shame in accepting that fate. Editors are necessary people in the world of good writing. They have valuable skills. Many of them seem to be appreciated by their clients. Gosh, I’ve even had one or two thank me on the Acknowledgements page. It’s a respectable and satisfying profession.

Then I discovered that someone for whom I had edited their first three novels, didn’t use my services for their fourth. I realised how paranoid I am. Was it because I did a lousy job with the first three? Was it because they didn’t like me? Had I offended them in any way? I knew it couldn’t be because I’m too expensive; I know I’m the cheapest editor in the nation, apart from an author’s relative who’d do it for free. Would a real, professional, experienced editor let such a simple thing throw them? Was it the Powers That Be telling me that being an editor wasn’t all there was for me? (Terrible sentence structure, but it’s only a blog so get over it.)

A few days later I received a delightful letter from a former client and current blog reader. (Big wave to you-know-who!) (Every now and then I discover someone else who reads this blog but doesn’t comment. It’s always a nice surprise.) This dear lady has learned how to bind books the old-fashioned/stitch by hand way. She has kindly offered to make me an exclusive, single, one of a kind, bound hard-cover copy of the junior fantasy novel I couldn’t get anyone to publish. It isn’t a publishing deal, it’s just one copy – but it’d be sitting there on my bookshelf looking gorgeous and dedicated to my grandchildren. It will have at least entered the real world as a printed BOOK. Woo.

Suddenly I was all-fired up again. In between working for others, I’ve got back to rewriting my Masters thesis as a Young Adult novel and I’m enjoying it. It’s nearly finished. My loins are already being girded, ready for another foray into the big scary jungle of the publishing world. This time I’ll succeed.

One person’s act of kindness has been all the spark that was needed to fire me up again. It reminds me of that old song: It only takes a spark to get a fire going, and soon all those around can warm up to its glowing. Okay, a little bit hokey, a little bit corny, but true none-the-less.

If you’ve been contemplating doing someone a random act of kindness, be bold, be brave, take a risk and DO IT. Who knows fires you’ll be starting, or what candles you might be lighting in someone’s darkness.