I fell through the rabbit hole like Alice today. I walked into a writing workshop with a finished book in my head and in my hands. My story had taken me about a decade to live and slightly less than three months to actually get it down on paper. As I sat there with my neat stack of typewritten pages in my hands, I listened to the other people in the room (13 others) share their stories from their heads and hearts and dreams. We all have something to say and chose to put ourselves through the writing process, which wasn’t at all what I expected. Then again, that seems to be a theme in my life-I rarely end up where I was headed to in the first place. It’s not that I am directionally challenged, just the opposite. I am a planner and yes, I know there are medications for this, but I am what I am. Writing is a lot like parenting, you go with your gut, pour your heart and soul into it, even on the days you don’t feel like it, and pray for the best. There are no guarantees that your kids (or books) will turn out well, but I am hopeful. My neat little story had morphed into something else by the end of the day and I am excited to see where it is going to take me.
Right after I got home from the seminar, my 14 year old came home following a weekend in Florida with his dad. He was only marginally irritable when he walked in the door, and that’s a good thing. I resisted annoying him more by throwing my arms around him, but did say how much I had missed him this weekend. He turned around and asked why? It was only a couple of days. I shared with him one of the stories I had heard today about a woman who had lost her son two years ago. He was only 25 and her story broke my heart. I don’t know if I have 40 years or 40 minutes left with my children, so yes, I do miss them even when they are only gone for a little while. You never know where you are going to end up and how the story is going to end.
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