I was taught that a writer does not compose a single sentence, do a cut and paste of another person’s work, and then set it in quotes. 

     Writing is, if behind all you’ve written, you exposed your soul.  You are a writer, if you’ve sweated each word and shed tears over scenes that you thought were great.  You are a writer if, as in my case, you’ve mumbled every cuss word in existence while you ripped those same crappy scenes out.

     I have conversations with that little editor on my shoulder.  Most of them are laced with words my mother would have washed my mouth out with soap for uttering.

     Editor:  “That scene sucks.”

     Me:  “Shut the #%&* up I need to finish this chapter.”

     Editor:  “But the scene-”

     Me:  “Bite me.  I’ll rewrite it later.”  I change the font to red so I remember to do it later.

     Editor:  “Shouldn’t that be a comma?”

     Me:  “I’m not friggin’ running grammar check every blankety blank paragraph.  It can wait until the end of the chapter.”

     Editor:  “Would she really say that?”

     Me:  “Shut the #%&* up!  No, you’re right she wouldn’t.”  Delete, delete, delete.

     And so it goes, scene after scene, chapter after chapter until the air above me is smoldering.  No wonder Dear Hubby absconds when I sit down to work.

     Above my desk sits a card sent to me by my wonderful Aunties.  It has Snoopy and Woodstock on the front.  Above the picture are the words, “Here’s the world-famous author at work.”  Snoopy is typing; It was a dark and stormy night.  Suddenly a shout rang out.  When you open the card, the center pops up and there are Snoopy and Woodstock in silly hats.  Surprise!  Happy Birthday!  They sent it to me a few birthdays ago.  I keep it on my desk to remind me that these amazing ladies have always been supportive of my writing.  They have faith that they will see my books published one day. 

     It’s heartwarming to have a cheering section-people who believe in you and who don’t belittle what you are doing.  To all those people (related and not related to me) who cheer me on, keep me encouraged, and don’t call my writing a ‘nice little hobby’ I say thank you and I won’t let you down. 

     Then there’s Dear Hubby who will proudly tell everyone that I’m a writer.  He’s my rock.  On those days where I’m groping for words to write and they won’t come, he is willing to listen to me and offer ideas.  To him I say, thank you for believing in me, for loving me (even when I’m going crazy with my writing), for being there for me when I need you, for letting me sleep in a little later when I’ve been up all night writing, and most of all, thank you for 35 years of laughter and love.