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Decembers are always crazy months for me. Coming from a large family it gets quite hectic starting at Thanksgiving. I have five major birthdays from Thanksgiving till the first of the year not to mention Thanksgiving and Christmas. I've been trying to find the time to write in all the muddle.
It's difficult at best.
And yet, it is what I love and if I have to go and work outside my home, well, then so be it. Survival is important but I only know one thing. ONE THING. This book, this very special book that has been running around, churning, and reincarnating itself in my brain for the last year has to be written. Before anything else.
It's important.
Not to mention that I now have my mother breathing down my neck. I let her read the first chapter and at the same time I handed her several books that I wanted her to read. (Garden Spells, The Book Thief, The Spiderwick Chronicles, The Faerie Path to name a few)We share books. A lot. But the funny thing?
Tonight she called me and said, "I started reading one of the books you brought me about a 17 year old boy. And there was a lot of things happening to him since he turned 17, but did you take that book home with you?"
I had to laugh.
She wasn't amused. "I started that book, Michelle, and I want to finish it before I read anything else. Why are you laughing?"
I told her.
"That was my story. The first chapter that I let you read."
Her response? "Why isn't it finished yet?"
I guess I have my work cut out for me.
