Spotted: a homeless man on a bicycle parked at the end of my driveway. he was rifling through my recycling bins.
and this, friends, is how my 87th started-but-never-to-be-finished novel was born. because that’s how it is with me; it’s how it has always been. I am somewhere unimportant, doing something equally as unimportant, and something hits me right then and there and then my mind starts racing and within five minutes I’ve plotted out seven tenths of a book in my head. seven tenths is the key, though. Like Jodi Picoult, I cannot write a decent ending. I started writing when I was 6. when I was home a few weeks ago, my mom pulled out this book I had written and illustrated. It was a true masterpiece. I mean, we’re talking thumbprint people, you all. (you are impressed,I know)
Anyway, it was one of the things my mom kept…because inside it, right on page 7, it says, “When I grow up I want to be a book writer”
you see, I knew. when I was 6. Sure, i went through that “ooh, I want to be a ___________” stage (insert job of the moment here: teacher, doctor, fireman, news anchor, OB nurse) and interestingly, of all the books I’ve started to write, THAT one, the thumbprint person book I wrote when I was in first grade, was the only one I have ever finished. back when I looked like this:
(the bangs! the bangs)
this one? this new one? it’s getting finished.
okay. I lied. That wasn’t the only one I have ever finished. But, while i AM proud of the books I have published through [insert company name here]
and as much as it warms the cockles when Isabella and I read them together and she says “Home Run! written by MY MOMMY!” with a huge, proud grin plastered across her little mug, I have NOVEL dreams.
and I mean, I am pumped about this one. Of course, I am pumped about each one at the beginning. and I already mapped a good seven tenths of it out in my head on my drive to work. names and faces! plot twists! surprises! romance! angst! It’s all there…this kernel of a story. I just need to get pen to paper, erm, finger to keyboard and DO IT.
the only problem? TIME. There are too many things I want to do. Too many things I NEED to do. I have too many passions, too many things. Between my day job, my night jobs, my kids, my hobbies, my training for a half-marathon, the one thing I need is more time. I am a wife. I am a mother. I am a drink-getter. I am a chef. I am an editor. I am a blogger. I am an interviewer. I am a writer. I am a runner. I am a decent photographer. I am a carpool driver. I am a blanket maker. I am a kick-ass photo researcher.
too bad I can’t dictate while I am running. now THAT would be a talent.