Kristin Hannah just published a new book. Ahhhh. It’s like reading a ballet or a really fine piano sonata–exciting and soothing and delightful and profound. I honestly believe if she would just write faster and come out with a new book about once a week, I wouldn’t do anything but read (truth is I hardly do now, but. . .). I love her characters, her themes, and the way she creates a captivating story out of them. Then there’s her writing. Sigh. She’s truly excellent.
However, egotistical brat that I am, as I read the first few engaging, intriguing pages, an angry twelve year old shows up. She sticks her lower lip out and glares at me. With a whine that would make the dog run and hide (if I had a dog), she says–“I try really hard, how come no one wants MY book?” About fifty pages in to this amazing novel, I look up to find a hopeless and melancholy seventeen year old slouched on the arm of my chair. She shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head (the skin on her face does not move when she does that–little does she know the surprises that are down the road). She shrugs and shakes her head of naturally dark brown hair and, with the perfect vision native only to the late teens, she says, “Hmph. I’ll probably never be good at ANYTHING.”
However, every once in a while, during the delightful journey Ms. Hannah is taking me on, someone actually says something positive about my writing (someone other than a close friend or family member). Without warning, a grinning, squirming four year old lands in my lap and grabs my face in her hands, making me look at her. Her innocent enthusiasm dives into my poor old heart, “See?,” she says “I am too a writer, somebody just said so, see?”. Unfortunately the four year old has a very short attention span.
Now you might wonder what the sixty-three year old has to say. On the rare occasion when she shows up, she rolls her eyes and sighs. “Well,” she says, “you’re not getting any better (or any younger for that matter) by sitting here feeling sorry for yourself–open your blog and write something!”
I bet you never feel like a twelve year old. Do you?