Randy Ingermanson, The Ruler of the Universe

If you aren’t reading Randy Ingermanson’s blog, why not? He’s a genius who uses his powers for good. Lately, he’s been especially excellent, ie. posting two blogs that mention me. First … second.

I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned this before, but since he references it in the first post, I will bring it up again. I admired Randy from afar long before he ever heard my name. I found him because of Steve Laube. When Mom and I first queried Steve as a agent, we googled him. The best item that popped up on the search concerned Mildred Koppelheimer. If you haven’t read this, including the proposal, please drop all other items on your to-do list down one slot and put this at the top. It involves a book called Shaving Babbitt, Randy dressed as a woman, and a soda fountain. If that doesn’t pique your curiosity, I’m not sure what will.

This struck our funny bone so hard, we decided to “fake” query Steve with a project we called Shaving Babbette. The protagonist was a young French woman struggling with whether she will grow what God gave her or give in to the new societal pressures to shave her legs/underarms. Hm … I wonder why it took nine years to get a contract with such brilliant ideas spilling forth. (Of course, we included the real query as well.)

Thenceforth, Randy became an untouchable hero of mythical proportions. I read all his books. I really enjoyed them. I began emailing him about enjoying them. He moved from CA to OR. I met him at a conference. I didn’t gush or lose my ability to speak. But I still respected his wit, intelligence, generosity of helping fellow writers, belief in the unpublished masses yearning to be in print, devotion to his family, good business sense, mathematical leanings, …

All of that brings me to the moment this August in Canby Grove at the Oregon Christian Writers Summer Conference. Jogging past the walk-in writing center, I see Randy standing by his lonesome, waiting for the next writer to attack him. Dare I? What if he found my writing drool, boring, scandalous (yeah, right), or some other dreadful adjective? Would he even be able to look at me any more? Could we salvage our budding friendship?

With pretended indifference, I ask if he’d mind looking at my first few pages. He shrugs, walks me over to a bench, and begins to read. He found a misspelling. Not the most embarrassing thing that could happen, but not the best. What magnified my embarrassment was that I KNEW I had found that misspelling in a earlier version. Gasp! Randy was perusing an old draft!! The one before I read all his posts about how men talk and what your male character should notice or ignore. Yet he keeps reading, flipping quickly through the pages. He chuckles. And not a chuckle of derision, but one of genuine enjoyment.

Finally I relax and enjoy the moment. The Snowflake Guy, who’s intent on taking over the world, likes my book.

What’s the moral? Maybe there’s something in your life that you’re afraid to try because the risk of failure haunts you.

Go Nike and just do it.

There’s always hope. See the heading on the top of Randy’s navigation bar? Scams. As in plural. Which means we might be treated to another at any time.