she wrote a book


I was not going to post this weekend.

There is a lot going on and going down this long President's weekend.

I did, under pressure and under a cloud of bad words, do a quick little post on Friday.

I do not want that to become a habit.

My link up with Lori's lovely blog studio water stone  for my I heart macro shot is very, very tardy.

But as today's title states:

she wrote a book

Whom you ask?

My eldest.  The big girl.  My daughter who bestows on me daily the gift and burden of "wanting to be just like me".

For nearly a year she has lovingly labored at her Sophie's Adventures tale.  A 100- page, 34 chapter book. 

The tattered pink spiral notebook has been her companion. 

Late last week she came striding into our bedroom at about ten pm with a confident gait, and wide toothy smile.

"It's finished!"she proclaimed.

Our bedroom shone with her own glowing pride- our own parental pleasure.

Today, me and said writer headed to our favorite hangout: Barnes and Noble.

The task of putting her penciled chapters into a computer's hard drive has started.

(one five-minute- episode involving her three-year-old sister and a running faucet or grape juice would swiftly bring irrevocable damage to her labored tale)

Today I took the opportunity to show my budding Hemingway the fine point of editing.

I immensely enjoyed showing her that the job of an author is to get the reader involved in her story: not to simply tell them what happened.

We discussed boring stuff like keeping the same tense and when to use quotations and parenthesises.

I have for the last four months subscribed to writers digest .  In it I have gained good information and practical disciplines in the art of writing.

I have found it true that anything worth learning is worth sharing.

(teaching is one of my spiritual gifts; I get a real high passing on important things to impressionable minds)

I told my husband not long ago that I felt I needed to designate a few hours each Saturday as "Mommy's working hours" – not working in the usual sense of gleaning some sort of mercenary advancement to our family. 

Oh no no.

Just me at, yes, you guessed it, Barnes and Noble working on my craft of writing, without interruption.  Not in the form of this blog. (though this minuscule space in the vast, vast world of blog-land has spurred on, ignited, and perfected my love of writing without a doubt)

And yet these last weeks have found me, with that precious free time, not holed up by myself, sucking down starbucks, nibbling on a biscotti,  but with my daughters.

Last week it was doing copious amounts of pre-teen-magazine-derived quizzes (only

mothers of pre-teens and teens understand this strange ritual and fascination).

Today is was editing Sophie's Adventures onto our Mac.

"for everything there is a season"

So wrote the wisest man in the world.

I am slowly, like a the long hibernating Spring flower, opening up, finding my voice, perfecting my craft.  My mind is set on the distant horizon of Summer's full bloom. When this lady will write, and often, will submit…maybe be published.

But I am still in the early Spring of my life.

The more pressing concerns of four daughters, a husband, and living life fully and joyfully in the midst of this loud sloppy family, is the true garden I am planted in.

The soil in which I am the most happy.

The most fruitful.

So this: many slices. typepad

my scribbled journal entries

my occasional stolen hours of writing

is where I am.

It's all I need.

Figuring that out, and being happy and content with that,

Make Me Feel Good.

Here's to writing.



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