Just had to break out the Snoopy Dance for this post...
Yesterday Poopzilla rampaged through the city, had a change of heart, morphed into Ben Ten and married Barbie – all this before our minivan backed out of the garage. Who needs a radio when you have an eight-year old and a five-year old who fill your car with their adventures? But what truly amuses me is how swiftly and easily their stories twist and turn. If my imagination were half as nimble and free as theirs, I’d probably have ten books by now instead of one. My characters could never hope to be as fascinating as a kind-hearted shape-shifting giant reptile that has a thing for eleven and a half inch tall plastic blondes, but hey, I’ll take them.Alas, my imagination’s knees aren’t what they used to be. Then again, I’m not surprised. Knees, metaphorical or otherwise, tend to get creaky when they don’t get enough exercise.
From the moment we set foot in school, we’re told to stop daydreaming, sit up straight, and pay attention. Or else. It’s no wonder that as adults, we feel guilty about letting our minds wander. We draw borders around the hours of our day and cram as much as we can into each little box, making sure that every second is stuffed with something productive. God forbid that an odd idle minute is not immediately filled with tweets, pings, or clicks. What’s a poor little random thought to do, but skulk away and wait to be noticed?
Admittedly, it’s not realistic to let our imagination run away with us the way it did when we were younger and didn’t have to worry about swerving into a car in the next lane. But I suppose, it doesn’t hurt to take it for a walk once in a while and let it stretch its legs. And maybe, when the grown-ups aren’t looking, we can even let it off its leash and allow it to roam and play. It may just surprise us with what it brings back when it returns, happily wagging its tail. I’m hoping for a purple dinosaur.
The difference between waiting and writing is only one letter. Coincidence? Hmm… When I began my trek to publication, I had no clue how much of my time would be spent waiting. Waiting for inspiration. Waiting for my manuscript to “cool off” before I could edit it. Waiting for my mom to finish reading my latest draft. Waiting for agents to respond to query letters. Waiting for publishers to offer. Waiting for editorial letters. Waiting for feedback on my revisions. Waiting for copyedits. Waiting for typeset pages. Waiting for book cover designs…
Don’t get me wrong - I’m not complaining. While I admit that there were periods when I stalked my inbox, I would not change half a second of the time I spent maniacally clicking the refresh button. Who cares that I probably now have a heart condition because of all the times my heart skipped a beat because of spam? Those moments zipped by compared to the wait I had before I even wrote the first word of the book. That wait took more than thirty years.
When you’re a kid, everything seems so much larger – tables, shelves, math teachers. Only dreams come in your size. You carry them around in your pocket and proudly show them around to whoever is willing to have a look. I’m going to be an astronaut! I’m going to be a singer! I’m going to write books! No dream was too silly to say out loud. President of the universe? No problem.
It gets trickier as you get older. Childhood dreams no longer fit as comfortably in your palm, and become harder to hold on to. Mine slipped out and rolled under my office desk. The funny thing was, it took a while before I even noticed it was gone. If not for my kids, I still wouldn’t.
My son says he wants to make video games and my daughter is dead set on becoming a princess. What do I tell them? Of course. You can be anything you want to be. And as it turns out, if you say something often enough, you start believing it. Eat your broccoli - it’s good for you. Don’t pout - it will freeze that way. You can be anything you want to be. You can be anything you want to be. You can be anything you want to be.
I waited more than three decades to believe again, but I am most definitely not complaining. The wait made me want it more. In six months, I’ll be able to carry my dream around with me again (I’m not too sure about being able to fit a 304 page hardcover book into my pocket, but I’ll as sure as heck try…) and giddily show it off to anyone who is willing to have a look.
So how about you? Is there an astronaut in your pocket? And what are you waiting for?
Santa came by late this year – on January 5 - to be exact. But it was worth the wait. Here’s a peek at what he stuffed in my stocking…
This of course means that I’ll have to read the book again to check for pesky typos and spelling errors, but for now I think I’ll just stare at them and sigh…(shhh…don’t tell my editor!)
Those who know me personally are most likely rushing to their windows in sheer panic to check for falling toads or fish or whatever unfortunate creature is supposed to rain from the sky to herald the apocalypse. Those who don’t know me should probably do a quick check too. Really. I mean it. Do it now. I’ll wait.
Did you go? No frogs? Guppies? Good. Check again in five minutes. I started a blog - the end is near. I'm sorry. I just couldn't think of any other way to keep myself sane while waiting for BEFORE EVER AFTER to be released into the wild. It's selfish, I know. Hopefully, I can make it up to you by keeping you sufficiently entertained as I take you along this crazy-fun journey I'm now on. (After a decade of navigating the Marketing industry, then making a sharp left at the corner of motherhood and the gourmet ice cream business, I, more than anyone else, am surprised by the latest turn my life has taken.) So relax, enjoy the detour, and follow the slightly disheveled guide with the red umbrella.
