Friday was a very special day for me. It was the day that my oldest daughter informed me that she wanted to write a book.
Kaylee is 11 years old and most parents probably would have said something like “Aww. That’s cute.” or “that’s nice, dear” and then gone on about their business. No. I am a writer, and writing blood courses through these veins. I helped her get set up on her mother’s laptop, gave her a few handy tips, and asked a ton of questions about her story ideas.
She had a few bad dreams lately that she just couldn’t get out of her mind. These became ideas for short stories, so I encouraged her to write a compilation of these and I would publish them through Amazon and the usual channels. She was so excited to hear how much I would help her, so she worked all weekend typing away at the laptop, taking it with her into her room, taking it with her to my mother’s house Saturday when we watched the University of Oklahoma trounce the University of Texas, and becoming upset yesterday when she couldn’t take it with her to church. It’s been exciting for me.
I have not looked at the story yet, but I’m itching to, as she just finished it up this afternoon and is planning on writing another one starting tonight. I will encourage her, help her along, and hopefully I’ll be able to help one of my children who has apparently been bitten by the writing bug.
It’s venom does not wear off and it makes one do crazy things. She will wake up nights and have to write something down so she won’t forget it the next morning. She’ll get goosebumps when she reads a good book. She’ll ruin friendships because she will have to tell people about the latest story idea she devised.
I’m glad I can be there for her, and even if this is only something she is trying out to “impress me”, I love her just the same even if she doesn’t write another word.