Tag: humor

I’m writing a book. My first long work of fiction.  I was supposed to keep that a secret. Oh well.

I’m at 19,500 words and I didn’t tell too many people ~ until now. Unless you count my Facebook Page, but with their wonky news feed that only hits 10 percent of my Likes, who knows who’s reading anything I post there?

Back to keeping it secret. How the heck is a writer ~ someone who tells stories for a living ~ supposed to keep quiet about the process of doing something they’ve always dreamed of doing, always felt a little intimidated to try, always felt they had in them? I can’t keep quiet about this!

I’ve read lots of advice along the lines of: Don’t tell anyone you’re writing a book. Not until you’re done. But what was I supposed to say I was doing at home all day these last few weeks? Dancing to Adam Levine’s Payphone while eating Swedish Berries? That would be truthful, but not the entire story. Everyone knows I spend my days dancing with a Swiffer down the stairs, freelance writing, and writing creative work. I can’t really hide from that. Or the Swiffer people, who keep begging me to shoot a commercial.

The book is a romantic comedy-drama, and I’m hoping it will be an enjoyable beach read for many. Yesterday, I was blushing as I wrote my first (tame) sex scene. I kept thinking: Oy. My parents are going to read this. But, I kept on writing. After all, they did have me. And my sister. I think they know just a little about the subject.

Today, Grandma (“Gram”) got a disco ball in her bedroom. I’m at summer camp, I tell you! I’m having the time of my life, growing with these characters and their experiences.

I’ve found some of my best plotting happens while in the shower. This works great, except that I become so lost in the story, I keep forgetting to shave my armpits. It’s pretty clear that by the time this novel’s done, I’ll have to move to France.

I’ve found some of my best plotting happens while in the shower. This works great, except that I become so lost in the story, I keep forgetting to shave my armpits. It’s pretty clear that by the time this novel’s done, I’ll have to move to France.

So, the secret’s out. I’m writing a book. Maybe I won’t finish it. I still have half way to go on the first draft, and I have all kinds of annoying inconveniences getting in the way of my writing. Paid magazine work. Photography work. Feeding my family. Geesh.

I’m betting I will realize this dream, since now I’ve told everyone I’m doing it, and I simply can’t stand quitting. Maybe it won’t get published; hopefully, some day, it will.

I’ll certainly share the journey with you, and all that I learn along the way.

Thanks for reading!