"When will your sequel be out?" a woman asked me at a book club gathering the other day. "I'm waiting for the sequel."

Each time someone asks me that, I'm thrilled.

Each time someone asks me that, I cringe.

My first novel, My Half of the Sky, took me twelve years to write. After sitting back for a few months to catch my breath, I decided I wanted to write another one. Writing is what I love to do, after all.

I figured the second time around should be faster. Much easier. Yet, I soon noted, that rather than head for my computer with great enthusiasm each morning, knowing exactly what to do, I instead looked for diversions. Checking e-mail and Amazon ratings. Dabbling with different writing genres. (How about a children's book?) Even doing the laundry more frequently.

When the woman at the book club gathering asked about the sequel, however, I realized--after that initial surge of elation-- that I needed to get moving. Faster.

So why can't I?

Recently while mulling over my page count, my projected finishing time, I had a mental flash to a track meet five years ago. My then 12-year-old daughter had insisted she was interested in running, even doing the hurdles. So she joined the school team, and when they had their first meet, I went to watch. The way the meet worked, runners were allowed to compete in as many events as they liked. All they had to do was get up off the grass, join the line-up, and wait for the gun to go off.

My daughter never got up off the grass, though. Okay, she got up once--reluctantly--without stretching or practicing to run one event. The rest of the three hours, however, she spent sitting with her friends, chatting and laughing. I ventured over and asked why she wasn’t going to do any of the other races.

“Did you see Cali run?" she asked. "Did you see Michael jump? I want to get some more practice in before doing the races here.”

"What's wrong with practicing your running here?" I said. "This is all just for fun. There are no medals, no awards. Just get out there and have fun."

"I'm good," she said, shifting into a more comfortable position on the grass and leaning over to share a joke with a friend.

But I wasn't "good." So later, when she wasn't surrounded by guns and whistles and a field of friends, I asked her what this was about.

“I just don’t want to be embarrassed in front of millions," she said, "coming in last."

“But I thought you were interested in doing this," I said.

"Yeah," she said. "I love to run."

"Then it's okay to try," I said. "It’s okay to fail."

That memory echoed in my heart. Wasn’t I too afraid of reaching the finish line? Wasn’t that why I spent so much time surfing the web? Dabbling in different genres? Doing the laundry even? Didn't I figure that I'd already run one race (and even received some awards). So why invite possible humiliation from editors and agents and friends who would laugh and say, ‘THIS is it? The sequel? Wow! I uh, I, uh, expected something better from you.”

So, yes, having written a novel I perhaps have a better idea of story form and characters arcs. I might have a stronger sense of timing and placement. But the actual writing? Well, that hasn't gotten any easier.

It's still scary.

Cause what if I fail?

EVERY single morning I must tell myself to get up off the grass. To run the race. That there aren't any awards or medals being given out--not in this part of the meet. And it's okay to fail.

Because this writing stuff, it's what I love to do.

The late leader of China, Chairman Mao said, "Women hold up half the sky. "My Half of the Sky" is the story of a contemporary young Chinese woman, Li Hui, who struggles to hold up her half of the sky--to be a modern woman--when the traditions of the village keep pulling her back.

My Half of the Sky was chosen by the American Booksellers Association as an August 2006 Booksense Pick of the Month. It received Notable Mention in ForeWord Magazine's Book of the Year Award 2007 and The Eric Hoffer Book Award 2007, and it was a finalist in the Benjamin Franklin Award for Popular Fiction 2007.

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