The Agony and The Ecstasy

of watching your six-year-old play baseball. Three weeks ago, my son made his first (and to this date only) run at his little league game. He came running over to the chain-link fence after it, his face bright and hopeful. He grasped the fence and yelled to me.

"I did it, Mom. Did you see?" His joy became complete when I assured him how wonderful he'd done. I also know, as his parent, I could have beaten his joy down. Words are powerful which is why so many of us love to write.

 I don't know how many of you saw the Mel Gibson movie Forever Young but in it, there is a line where he says about his girlfriend, who has gone into a coma, that nothing is real until he tells her about it. I think that is why I miss my mom so much. Tomorrow, she will have been gone eight months. She was the person who made things real for me. Sometimes a little too real like when she would read a story of mine and then say, "it's not my favorite," without ever sharing what that favorite might be. But also letting it be okay that if I take the time to write and parent then my house will never be without toys, backpacks, or dog bones that must be stepped around to traverse most rooms.

I know I write my stories because I like to take the ideas that are running around in my head and see if I can make them coherent on paper but I also crave that external validation. I also wonder if that is why many writers seek publication. Too few authors make a living at it for it to be for the money. Maybe I need someone else's approval to make me a "real" writer.

Speaking of which, ideas are percolating about that contest I mentioned yesterday, details to come soon.