Finding Home

Do I believe or don’t I?

These days I’m thinking about Peace Cottage and how it will be received. I know that some of you will like the book itself, because you liked the first draft. And some of you will like it because you know me. But I’m so thin-skinned. What happens with that first bad review? You know, the one I’ve already written in my head, the really mean and scathing one that reduces me to tears and humiliation. I guess I have a choice, to believe in my book or not. To believe that I’m an author or not. I choose to believe. All my life I’ve been writing–for school, for my diaries, for college, for work, and for the pleasure of writing a good letter to a friend or family member. I learned the joy of writing from my mother, who is 81 and has been keeping a diary ever since she was quite young. But I never once thought I’d write a book. And now I wonder what took me so long. Peace Cottage is a solid story. And Vinehart Farm is shaping into a solid story as well. I’m not Tolstoy. I’m not  Janet Evanovich. My books won’t make you laugh and laugh or strike you dumb with insight. But I do have good stories and I craft them well. And I write about what I know, so I think they are believable.   Next time I’ll tell you what I know, and maybe out of that exercise, I’ll find a third book waiting for me to tease it out.



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