Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead. — Gene Fowler
For weeks, I’ve been busy with projects. After my book deal (The Graham Cracker Plot) was announced, I gave myself time off for marketing plans and tasks such as helping my mom clean her basement. A massive job–35 years worth of what I can only describe as “stuff.” I threatened to light a match, but we got through two rooms without arson.
Now it’s back to the laptop and my second middle-grade novel. Novel II is the second child. I know it’s wrong to compare child 2 to child 1, but that birth order thing isn’t quack psychology.
Novel I: Mature. Quick learner. Understood the world around her. A rule follower. She listened to me. She wanted to achieve. She wanted my approval.
Novel II: A rebel. She doesn’t listen to me. In some ways, she tries to challenge Novel I. She carves her own path. No matter how I guide her, Novel II wanders away. Occasionally, she takes me to an amazing place. Usually, it’s off the map. No, Novel II, you are not a thriller! You are a comedy with relationship growth! She slams her door and screams, I hate you! You’re the worst writer-mother ever!
Today, I’m planning special time with Novel II. We’ll have a healthy conversation. We’ll talk about her future. May she see the error of her ways.