Sometimes, I pscyho-analyze myself. You know, just for fun. I've had nearly thirty years of experience (I started when I was about f...
The Boy in the Mirror, or Why Kim Writes
Sometimes, I pscyho-analyze myself. You know, just for fun. I've had nearly thirty years of experience (I started when I was about five-years-old, I was precocious like that), so I'm pretty awesome at it. I've pretty much got myself figured out now. Not only do I know how awesome I actually AM, I know how awesome I will be, CAN be, might be, should be. However you want to phrase it, I have got POTENTIAL people. Most of it unrealized, but it is there. Oh yes.
The one(?) thing I haven't figured out though is my writing potential. That throws me for a serious loop. Some days I sit down and write a chapter and my head bops along to my internal soundtrack (currently: Adele's "Rolling in the Deep"), and I think, this is awesome! Love the dialogue. Love the flow. Man, my main character is HYSTERICAL! Whoo. HOO.
And then the next day I stare at the screen, punch at the keyboard sporadically, and find myself fretting and doubting. This is CRAP, I tell myself. Who am I kidding, pretending I can write? Time to pull out the sewing machine, because at least I expect to be horrible at sewing.
Yeah. Writers are, by nature, emotional schizophrenics. Really. Look it up. It's a thing.
One of the many awesome things about having kids (yes, we're talking about my kids now - they're even more awesome than I am, you know), is that you have the option of looking at the world through a VERY different lens. And it really messes with my head when I see my kids quit something before they've even properly started it. I start thinking, um, they're not supposed to be little mini-me's, are they? Aren't they supposed to be better? Aren't we supposed to take it up a notch each generation? Isn't that the hope?
And then I realize that I have to teach them to be better, and the only way I can do it is to show them. Talking is fun exercise for the lips and, occasionally, the brain, but it isn't called cheap for no reason. Talk is whispery quiet, no matter how much you shout. Talk is temporary and fleeting. I have an awesome memory, but there are very few of my mother's words that I can actively call to mind. Instead, I remember what she DID.
Oh man. My poor kids. Because so far, I haven't taken it up a notch at ALL. My mum was (is!) all shades of fabulous, and I'm, like, maybe two shades (I make really good cookies and storytime with Mommy ROCKS around here).
So I'm going to keep writing. I finished off the first two chapters of my new book yesterday and I'm pushing forward into the third today. Even if one day I think it's amazing and the next I think it's horrid, I'm going to keep writing because I want my daughters to see me writing. I want them to see me doing hard things, so that they can believe they can do hard things too.
Plus, I really want to find out what happens next. My book is FASCINATING. To me anyway. Click the tab up top labelled "The Boy in the Mirror" to find out if it's fascinating to you too. You can even tell me what you think. Honestly. I probably won't curse or throw stuff hardly at all.
VanderVision Tip of the Day: Sadly, it is possible to be awesome at non-awesome stuff. Stuff like laziness, binge eating, country music playing, etc . . . Brag it up anyway. It makes you look extra cool and has the bonus effect of confusing the heck out of people.
About author: Kimberly VanderHorst
Kimberly Vanderhorst wrote her first book when she was seven (it was totally awesome, but the world isn't ready for it yet), and her next when she was twenty-seven. When asked to account for the intervening decades, she likes to suggest the possibility of alien abduction with as straight a face as possible.