So, I'm Writing a Book

I decided I’m going to write a book. It really wasn’t as simple as it sounds though. In part because I’ve actually already written the book. Eighteen years ago, as a matter of fact.

So, in fifth grade, I wrote a book. It rambled on where it should have been brief, it climaxed too late, and it lacked overall direction and focus. In short, it was written by a ten year old. Despite its obvious shortcomings, it was a good story. Good enough to win first place in the fifth grade and send me (and it) to a special young author’s conference. High honors for a ten-year-old, I assure you. A little sad for a twenty-eight year old, possibly. Still, I reread that book and see its potential. What I hope is that the potential is in the story itself, and not just the precocious little girl writing it.

For years I’ve dreamed of rewriting this book and seeking publication, but those dreams have always faded before pen even hit paper, or more accurately before fingers hit keyboard. Motivation isn’t my strongest quality. Which is to say, it may not be a quality of mine at all, but seeing as this is all still a dream, I’ll embellish. Perhaps this should be a New Year’s Resolution, but I rarely have success at those. For now, I am daring to speak aloud (via cyberspace) my goal. In doing so, I’m hoping to hold myself accountable.

I will rewrite this book.

I will submit it for publication.

I will continue to write/edit/resubmit until it’s accepted.

I will remember these promises tomorrow, the next day, and the day after that until my goal is reached.

Step one: accomplished.

And so it goes…..

Doh!

I’ve happened upon another hypothetical situation I thought I’d share.

So, there’s a 3-month pregnant wife suffering discomfort in her lower back due to pregnancy-related growth and expansion. She’s engaging in an odd frog-like stretching position in the family living room in an attempt to quell the pain. Her loving, and very thoughtful, husband notices the situation and voluntarily crosses the room and begins to rub her back. He simply wants to help his wife, and possibly quiet her whining. It’s a win-win situation.

And then it happens.

Wife thanks him for his kindness and makes a small joke about her widening midsection, saggy pants, and unflattering position. They both cautiously chuckle at her “plumber-like” appearance. To which the loving and very thoughtful husband then adds:

“I can see your stretch marks too,” and proceeds to attempt to cover said marks by adjusting her clothing.

Sigh.

Wife tenses.

Husband “umms”, “errrs”, and “uhhs” for a good 10 seconds.

And life goes back to normal.

Personally, I think the hypothetical wife should remind the hypothetical husband of their 3 ½ hypothetical children and how they came to be, and then send him out into the sub-freezing night air for ice cream, but that’s just me.

Not so....Happily Ever After.

Our family’s nighttime ritual is rather interesting, I think. After putting our 19 month old to bed, the girls (3 & 4), my husband, and myself all gather in their room for “the usual.” It’s always sweet, occasionally frustrating. One night, our baby girl was in a bit of a mood.

It went something like this:

It was Myrtle’s night to tell a story. She told her usual castles, princes, princesses, and heroic rescues, complete with magic potions, evil monsters, and enchanted keys. It was long-winded and wonderful, although clouded slightly with the moaning and whining of Twinkle-Toes while she struggled with the “taking turns" and "sharing” concepts. Yep, it's one of those nights.

So, the story ends with a 'Happily Ever After' and we move on to our dream sequence. This is where everyone takes turns sharing what they are going to dream about that evening. Again, notice the “take turns” and “sharing” theme. We dive in.

Mom – “I’m going to dream about picnics, playgrounds, and all things summer.”
Dad – “I’m going to dream about a castle in the clouds." He may or may not have said this for the benefit of the two 'princesses' in the room.
Myrtle – “I’m going to dream about…..Daddy.” We all chuckle (ok, Mom sighs) at the static answer.
Twinkle-Toes – “I’m going to dream about a princess locked in a tower with a dragon, and the dragon eats her.”

The room falls silent.

Inside, I’m rolling. That’s my surly little girl. You just have to love her.