My son is the one who got me writing again. I had stopped, for I don’t know how long. When I graduated college I tried to work on a book. I organized my folders, filed away information, then got depressed when the words didn’t flow.
I started working as an editor for the Bureau of Land Management, trying to help bureaucrats sound like human beings. Before long I was working on brochures and pamphlets, designing and writing sometimes. It was a good creative outlet and graphic design work helped pay the bills when I ran away from steady employment.
But during Danish Days four years ago, our local independent bookstore decided to hold a writing contest to celebrate Hans Christian Andersen’s 100th birthday. My son wanted to enter. We decided to both write stories for the contest.
Drew started writing stories before he could write. He would draw pictures and then tell me or his dad the words that went on each page. He would take his books to preschool and the teacher would read them aloud to the class. I still have a huge file of his books of “Scary the Robot and Happy the Boy,” and any other characters his vivid imagination came up with.
For this contest, we had to write a fairy tale. Drew finished his and included a picture. Mine went from being a short story, to a picture book, to a full-fledged novel. It wasn’t a GOOD novel and on my shelf it sits. But it had a beginning, an end, and a lot of stuff going on in the middle. The best part about it was that it reignited my desire to write books.
So I guess when I publish my first book (keep in mind I’m dreaming here!), I’ll dedicate it to Drew. Or, who knows, it might end up that he's dedicating his to me…
