The other day I sat, finishing up on a little stolen writing time as my 5yo sat next to me. He studied the first lines of my current WIP and I realized that his new reading skills were in use. I helped him read through the opening line of my WIP and then explained the scene to him. He seemed somewhat unimpressed and asked me how long my story was. When I told him there were 65 pages completed, but it would be over three times that many when it was done, he seemed a little more impressed.
I explained to him that this was a book for big people, so it had a lot more words/pages than his ‘chapter’ books did. We then talked about ideas regarding a MG book that he had recently sparked into my imagination as we played. He was excited about the whole idea of me writing a book for a kid like him. We made a document with notes and ideas. I told him I would work on it next, after I finished my current story.
Several days passed and we were sitting and watching TV together. He looked outside and said something I will never forget. “Hey that reminds me of your story.” He had seen something happening that was very similar to my opening line which we had discussed. He then repeated a good portion of it to me.
There is admiration, respect, accolade, acceptance. The world can heap these things on you, or withhold them all. We struggle to achieve even one of them. Then a 5yo remembers and relates to a single line I wrote. Nothing in all the world can beat that.
I could write for seventy years and have a hundred titles to my name, or I could write for ten years and have only an old worn out laptop. That moment was the reason why I write. One simple sentence, one point of view that it changed, one writer touched to the point of tears.
Why do you write?