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Did you know I'm a novelist?

Yes, I wrote a book. In fact, I’ve currently authored 5 novels and a short book of poems. My first book is bound and everything. It’s called . . . well, now that I think about it, there’s not really a title page. My first grade teacher is the one who typed and bound it, so I blame her for this oversight. Let’s just take a look, shall we? I was 6 years old:

The opening paragraph

 

This piece of original artwork had the following wise words about parents below:

“Sometimes my parents are mean. And sometimes nice. Some places are fun to go where they take us. And sometimes not. It is fun to live with parents. When I live with parents it makes me feel good. I could not live without parents because we would have to be born from them. We love them.”

Some places are fun . . . and some places not . . . yes, I was nothing if not a very fair thinker. Like in the following observations on the subject of “Sisters”:

“My sisters always yell at me for no reason. They always blame me for bad things that they did. So then I get in trouble. It’s just terrible to have sisters like them. It’s just terrible! Just to have any sister is just terrible, simply terrible. They get into everything. But . . . sometimes nice!!!!!!!!”

Yes, I never indulged in exaggerated statements without presenting the balancing view at the end.

Let’s end on a fanciful note with my thoughts on “Dinosaurs”:

 

A treatise on our prehistoric reptilian friends

My second book came years later. It’s called “Cry Baby”, featuring a girl named Amanda who was always getting bullied and crying. You may not be able to find this on amazon.com, or at Borders. In fact, the only copy sits on my shelf—that makes it really valuable, right? A collector’s item, or something?

"Cry Baby", first edition

 

Amanda was tyrannized by her teachers as well as the school bullies, and the pent-up hurt roiling about in her inmost being causes the following outburst: “you violent humbug, piggy of the mud!!” Later on in a heart-aching twist she even turns on her best friend: “You dumb, ugly little tyrant!” But the most emotional tirade, also directed at a teacher, is: “You barfed upon lady with a rooster head! You hard-hearted, unloved, unthink-for-yourself, baby-brained computer-directed cry-baby!” Apparently my 9-year-old soul was rife with insults. Especially “computer-directed”–ouch. I would say that takes the novel from a “G” to a “PG” rating.

My thoughts as a budding young author were recorded in this inspirational journal entry dated February 8th, 1993. Original spelling retained.

“I am doing well in my story “Cry-Baby”, but mom said to many bad things happen to the main character, Amanda. She hurt my feelings by saying that excrushiatingly and . . . well anyway, I’m kind of glad she said that, so that that way I can change it, by making something good become of all the bad things. Wow!!

Dad said maybe I could get my story “Cry-Baby” published, and he wasn’t joking either. I suppose I could get it published . . . Actually, I think it’s very possible. Many kids my age have gotten books published. Maybe I could. And anyway, why not? Dad knows a writer (not personally), but he knows of a writer who they pay by the word. I’m not sure how much though. I wish I did , so I could have an idea how much, how rich he is. Not that I’ll ever be payed that much but. . . I wish they did pay me that much, but then again I don’t want to be famouse either. That surely would not be fun. Imagine people visiting you every second of the day, while you were so very hard trying to write? Ugh!!! The very idea of that is disgusting.”

I guess you could say based on this that Charles Dickens was my true inspiration. Or rather, his pay structure was.

My 3rd book, the short work of poems, is called “The Acrobat’s Fall”, inspired by Shel Silverstein. The only thing is, it was my Christmas present to Dad one year, and to this day it’s the only copy in circulation. Dad, I hope you’re taking measures to preserve and care for this national treasure.

My next 3 books (“Changes”,”Times to Remember”, and “Our God is an Awesome God”) centered around a girl named Rachel Byrd and her adventures starring in a play, riding horses, building a secret fort in a hay barn, and going to a million pool parties, where the boys expressed their avid interest in her. It pretty much sums up everything I wanted out of life at 11 years of age.

At the beginning of each book, I made a little bio for Rachel to get the readers on board with her interests. While leafing through it, this caught my attention:

“Things she hates doing: going on errands, cleaning, social studies, spanish, listening to grown-ups’ conversations.”

Hmmm. . . that kind of rings a bell. I wonder why?

“Favorite food: rice and mushrooms.”

 Hey, that’s my favorite food! Whaddya know.

Let’s jump right into the first paragraph of the very first book:

“”Dear Diary”, I began to write, “Today my sister broke my porcelain cat, I yelled at her and now I’m sitting in my room, grounded . . .” I bit the end of my pen, and a tear dropped onto the yellow page. Flinging my diary aside, I covered my face and sobbed. I finally blurted out “It’s so unfair!” I stifled back a few sobs and stuffed my fists into my eyes.”

Wow, that’s so intense I don’t think I can read anymore for today. I can only digest this in extremely small chunks–like with all quality writing, right?

I even started Book #4, which jumps right into the rehearsals for the play Rachel is starring in. Doesn’t every girl fantasize about having to kiss the boy of her dream in a play they star in together?

“I began to get nervouse . . . and Jesse, who was acting the part of my love, walked on to the stage. Trudy softly played her flute , and I looked at him dreamily. Then, we both knelt down and put our faces close as if we were kissing. Mrs. Lenbraum applauded softly, and I grew red hot. “Very well!” cried Mrs. Lenbraum.”

OK, yep, I can kind of see where that might not have quite been the writing quality that would zoom me to the top of the bestseller list. But where there’s not quality, make up for it with quantity! Or at least that must have been my motto, since there are hundreds of pages of this stuff–hundreds, my friend.

After pouring my heart into these 3 novels, I kind of fell off the wagon. As with all great writers, after your masterpiece you need time for your soul to regenerate. I think I require spa treatments for a full recovery to take place. In the meantime, are there any editors out there who want to do a second run of these books? I mean, a first run? I think I’ve discovered what my life has been missing all these years–royalties!

He beat her to the altar

Somehow, years ago, my sister Erica and my cousin Steve engaged in an epic race to the altar.

At the time, neither one was in a relationship. A race seemed like the right thing to do. Bets were made, gauntlets were thrown down, and firm handshakes were given left and right.

The very dinner over which the race was declared (summer 2008)

I am here to declare: he won. As fate would have it, their weddings are only 28 days apart—it was a close one, folks. But as it stands, with the “I do’s” that were repeated on Saturday June 26th, Steve triumphed. I just wish I could remember who owes who what. Was there money involved? And more importantly, is that money somehow owed to me? Based on a glaring hole in the historical record, we may never know.

After a careful and scientific research of their childhoods, I can say that he was bound to win. Just look at him:

Steve smiles triumphantly in the middle. Erica, to the right, has a clear sense of her future demise.

Erica, to the left, may think she's ahead--but here comes Steve. His style can only be called "barreling forward".

Let’s do a short interview with each contestant:

………………………………………………….

 

ERICA

“How do you feel about your loss of the unforgettable ‘race to the altar’?”

Erica: Since I won the race to the earth by 5 weeks, that trumps the race to the altar . . . but if Steve feels like he’s won, I’ll let him believe that. The fact is that entering the world is a way bigger deal than getting married because you can’t actually get married unless you exist.

“How would you encourage other ‘race to the altar’ contestants who have lost to cope with their failure?”

Erica: Failure, failure. . . what is failure . . . I wouldn’t count this race as “failure” per se. What would happen if you blended orange juice and a banana?

“Let’s stay on topic—you just lost a bet—how do you not see that as failure?”

Erica: Domination is done by Team Us, team Dave and Erica—and Steve and Steph have alliterated names, which is lame. I would call that losing. So in the end, Steve and Steph get kind of a consolation prize by getting married today. I pity them.

“Erica, those sound like fighting words.”

Erica: They are fighting words.

Dad: Stephanie’s Dad is a wrestling coach. . .

Erica: Well I’m not going to wrestle her dad. I’d like to point out that Dave is also an army ranger, and rangers lead the way. That’s their motto.

My husband: Don’t you think historians lead the way though?

“So give us a little preview of the drama to come—do you have any plans that include scheming, conning, sabotage, or dueling?”

Erica: Oh, well, our children are part of that plan—we’re going to have ninja ranger rock-throwing babies. Our gang of children will beat Steve and Steph’s offspring into oblivion. And not just physically—also intellectually. They will beat them in wealth, beauty, smarts, and strength. Their names will be: Ranger #1, Ranger #2, Ranger #3 and so forth. Steve and Steph, be afraid. It’s all part of the master plan.

Erica puts up her dukes

……………………………………………………

STEVE

“How do you feel about your recent Race to the Altar victory?”

Steve: Haha! Completely not the first thing on my mind . . . but it does add to the excitement. You know, now that you mention it, it feels good.

“How do you plan on interacting with Erica as the loser in this contest?”

Steve: Rub it in a little. I mean, I’ll be gracious–but I’ll always have the upper hand.

“What advice would you give to young things out there who are also contemplating engaging in such a Race?”

Steve: Mmmmmmm. . . win. And enjoy it, that’s the big thing. It happens once. Winning adds, but losing wouldn’t take away.

“Erica has said some Fighting Words about her gang of kids beating up your gang of kids; your response.”

Steve: Bring it. Bring it. Do you know what my kids are going to be named? Hunter, Gunner, Shooter, and Ace.

“Thanks Erica and Steve for fielding my questions. It’s all about good journalism on topics that are of general interest to the American public.”

………………………………………………

Well everyone, stay tuned for the ongoing drama—something tells me we haven’t seen the last of these ambitious racers! We’ll do follow up interviews in 10 years, once both couples have had the time to produce their own private gang of ruffian children. Who will win? Who will lose? And the burning question on all our minds–whose children will be the first to make it to Mars in a home-made space shuttle and colonize what some know as “The Red Planet”? We’ll be back after a brief decade.

In the meantime, enjoy these shots of Steve and Steph’s wedding:


Erica and Steve put aside their differences