Writing has been a lifelong passion of mine. The process of taking something as abstract as an idea and turning it into something tangible such as an essay or a book is exciting to me.
For over forty years, I told my family and friends “someday I would write a book.” In the beginning, they believed me. Everyone agreed I had a talent for writing. When there was something to celebrate, a birthday or an anniversary, I provided the speech that garnered the applause for the person being celebrated. If a eulogy was needed, it was my words that gave comfort to the family and friends. There are many colleges who aren’t aware that my work has been submitted to them. I enjoy the writing. I appreciate the compliments. Nothing made me happier than seeing my Mom cry over something I had written in her birthday card.
As the years passed, so too did the belief that I would someday write a book. I became to my family the “boy who cried wolf”. When my daughters, Missy and Jenni, were growing up, I would often share my story ideas with them. At first, they listened with enthusiasm. Encouraging me to begin writing those stories. One Christmas they even bought me a personal tape recorder. If an idea for a character or a plot popped into my head I could record it before it was lost among the many others that were swirling around in there. When they too failed to see anything written on paper or typed into the computer they also lost faith in me.
Everyone was getting tired of hearing me say, “someday I’m going to write a book.” Finally, my daughters told me after I again shared an idea for a book title and the subsequent story that would be born from it, “We don’t want to hear any more about titles, or books you are someday going to write until you finally start writing one.” The line in the sand had been drawn because there were none on paper. I was on my own with my ideas. No one wanted to hear them anymore. It was a very lonely place to be.
I decided that I would show them. The proverbial gauntlet had been thrown down. A few days later, I opened my laptop and I began writing. Once I had made the decision to start there was no stopping me. I wrote all day and sometimes I wrote all night. After a few days, I had completed a couple of pages. Those pages then became a chapter. Suddenly, (well not suddenly, it has been many, many months) I had my book.
Thanks to my daughters, my someday has arrived. It arrived much later than I expected, but it’s here and that’s all that matters.
Originally published at judithjohnstonsarsten.wordpress.com