Maybe I was bored. Maybe I needed to work on a tan. Or maybe I wanted to fulfill one of my bucket list items. Whatever the reason, I agreed to accompany my husband to the golf course yesterday afternoon.
The deal was this: I'd go if I could drive the golf cart. I'd never driven one before and figured it would be fun. After a quick lesson on the brake, (that's about all one needs to know), I took off. But it wasn't long before I tired of playing chaffeur and decided he made hitting the ball look really easy.
I could do that, I thought.
Afterall, I took golf in college thirty-some years ago. How hard is it really? Old men and women do it everyday.
I'll tell you, my divet made a crater look tiny. It isn't so easy to connect a little white ball with an iron.
When you first started writing, didn't you think it would be easy to get publsihed? How many times did you think all you had to do was jot something down on paper, send it in and the publisher would love it? (I'll raise my hand.)
Golfers who become pros study the game of golf. They spend years practicing their skill. They take lessons, they watch others, they read about the game. And then only the very best ever make it to the Golf Channel.
I was reminded about something yesterday out there on the ninth hole. If I want to get good at something, I need to practice. Alot.
I don't care about learning to hit a golf ball--but I do care about my writing. I care enough to try to be the very best. I hope this week finds you working hard to perfect your game!