Who Writes a Book?

Who Writes a Book?

Crazy people, that’s who. But anyone who knows me recognizes that I usually mean the word ‘crazy’ in a very positive way. Crazy as in passionate, driven, tenacious, over the top. ‘On the edge’.

My energy level, which is already abnormally high, increases exponentially when I write. You know how time flies when you’re with someone you love and you can’t get enough? Imagine having that with a creative pursuit you can indulge in ANY TIME YOU WANT. It’s a euphoria I imagine others get from drugs or walking a tightrope, except it’s safe and healthy.

On paper, time is not my friend. It isn’t even a tolerable acquaintance you have over for dinner once in a while. It’s a full blown villain right out of the super hero comics, like Poison Ivy or Harley Quinn. She’s still fashionable, but a stingy bitch nonetheless.

I keep saying I want to be cloned, like a goat or a donkey, or whatever it was they cloned at one time. My schedule is insane – I have a full time job and a relationship. We are trying to combine our households to reduce the insanity to mere lunacy or absurdity. I have a son and a dog and tons of friends. And laundry and dishes, and all that boring crap the Superfriends never had to worry about on Saturday morning cartoons. But when I write, time grows and expands as if I possess a super hero power. It’s the Bionic Woman’s hearing, Batgirl’s kick and Wonder Woman’s lasso – all rolled into one.

Writer Girl doesn’t wear a cape or a mask, but when she’s unleashed she has no concept of time, space or reality. I am channeling the little girl who used to play super heroes in her backyard with her little sister and best friend. Running across the grass like little ding-dong heads we BECAME Wonder Woman, Batgirl and the Bionic Woman – for hours and hours until our mothers called us in before we got eaten by the mosquitos at dusk. Silly little girls dreaming of being powerful and strong, with nothing but time stretched before us.

When I write I feel bigger than I am, and connected with something outside of myself. Time literally has no boundaries. One day a few months ago my son went to get a haircut. I heard him leave and he said goodbye. Five minutes later he came back in and I asked him if he had forgotten his keys. He gave me that look that said I had lost my marbles, and told me he was coming back from his appointment, pointing to his hair as further evidence of my dementia. He had been gone over an hour and I literally thought he had just left. Then I looked at all that I had written. It was a holy crap moment.

I started writing ‘There Are No Men’ in late August 2013. I just decided to try it. I had an idea and it was starting to take shape in my mind. What did I have to lose? So I wrote about 20 pages. Then I went away for Labor Day weekend with my boyfriend (now fiancé), Jim, and a friend. At the beach I didn’t want to tell them I was trying to write a book. As I said, who writes a book? So I snuck upstairs to the condo every time I thought of an idea I just HAD to write down. Soon after, I confessed my little project to Jim, who I’m sure didn’t think I was serious. He saw my huge stack of unread ‘craft of writing’ books the first time he came to my house, so I didn’t blame him.

As I continued to write in a SUPER serious way, I was still reluctant to tell people. I felt like I was telling them something embarrassing that would elicit sympathy, such as “You poor deluded twit – you can’t just write a book. Who does that?”

But over time my confidence has grown. I have joined a writer’s group and read aloud to laughter and tears. I have shared my work with friends and family, even my 19 year old son made it through a few chapters of the first draft of my romantic comedy. Now I have an editor and beta readers and a website. I tell EVERYONE about my work.

Who Writes a Book? I do, and there’s no stopping me now.

I am not boastful by nature, and I am struggling with tooting my own horn. But I am not bragging – “oh look at me, I wrote a book”. It’s more sharing the joy of what I have discovered. I’ve had small taste of what it’s like to make people laugh while doing something I love. To evoke emotion when a scene resonates with someone’s own life experience. To entertain and to bring people together.

Time expanding to manifest the dreams of a pintsized 7 year old Wonder Woman. That’s the magic of super hero powers.

And that’s the kind of crazy girl who writes a book.