Remember when you were a kid, and people would ask you, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I’m guessing that right now you’re thinking about your answer. So, what was it? . . .
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Well, since I promise no B.S. in my writing, I’ll share my honest thoughts on my experiences as a book club “guest” by sharing some of my dos and don'ts for those of you who invite authors (i.e., me) to speak at your book club.
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I hope that you’ll read it, and when you do I hope that you’ll smile sometimes and shake your head in frustration at other times. I hope that, in some small way, you’ll feel a sense of enlightenment after you’ve finished reading it.
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“Wow, you really like to tackle the tough topics, don’t you?”
That’s what my literary coach said to me after he read some of my ‘stuff’ recently. The ‘stuff’ he read was from book number one (published already) and book two (to be published in March 2022).
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Father’s Day brings back so many memories, especially of my grandfather. His name was John, but I never heard anyone call him that. Ever. They called him Shiny. Even my grandmother called him Shiny. I have no idea why.
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My paternal grandmother’s name was Marguerite (my grandfather called her Margaret, but that’s another story, and I won’t digress).
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If you’ve ever read anything I’ve written (thank you), then you may have noticed that I like to throw in a cliché or two now and then.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger . . . possibly my favorite of all.
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I’ve spent a lot of time lately reflecting on the words ‘equal’ and ‘same.’ I won’t get into the details of why; let’s just say that a recent conversation left me pondering the difference between the two words.
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2020. A year of firsts. . . and seconds. . .and thirds. . . and fourths.
2020. A year of fourths. The fourth Christmas after. The fourth Christmas of wondering how we got here.
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So, why my sudden interest in Elliot Page, someone young enough to be my son, and his announcement that he’s transgender? Because I’m the mom of a transgender young adult.
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Have you ever known someone who legally changed their name? (Changing it for marriage doesn’t count.) I’m talking about someone who didn’t like their name, or maybe it didn’t “fit” them anymore, and so they had it legally changed.
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I admire people with perfect children, honestly, I do. They’re out there, and I know this because I see them on social media every time I log in.
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Wouldn’t it be wonderful if childhood were the stuff of movies? I mean real family movies like The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins, not Meet the Fockers and National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (both of which are incredibly funny, but let’s face it—not exactly the picture perfect family you’d long to trade places with). Childhood should be filled with laughter and love, unicorns and rainbows.
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When I decided to write about my journey, I deliberately DID NOT read anything that other parents had written about their life/journey with a transgender child. I wanted my story to be mine alone without any subliminal outside influences.
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For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to write. Writing is therapeutic if that’s your thing. Writing became a ‘bucket list’ item (#1 on mine, actually); but as it often happens, life got in the way.
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Before Tristan, there was a little girl named Anna.
Anna was always fiercely independent, and if she wanted something, she just went for it. Just before her first birthday we bought a tiny cottage on the water in the quaint little village of Deltaville, Virginia. Hence, Anna grew up spending weekends on the water. She loved hanging out on the dock and looking for Kiki.
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Teenagers notice things that ten-year-old miss. Teenagers often see the demons in other people, they can name the demons.
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Having four kids grants you instant access to the exclusive club known as “Wow, That’s a Lot of Kids!” I couldn’t wait. I already had more kids than I had hands, so what was one more?
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It’s so freeing when dancing with your best foot forward takes on a new meaning. For me it used to mean playing the homecoming queen, playing the part that everyone expected of me.
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When I offered to share it I was clear about two things, so Tristan knew what to expect: 1) there are parts of the book where Tristan looks like a brat, and 2) there are parts of the book where I look like an asshole.
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