I write a lot. Sometimes, I scribble stuff in the back of my notebooks at school while I should be paying attention to the cognitive advancements in a toddler mind. Occasionally, I write at home when I’m supposed to be folding laundry or doing dishes. I used to keep a notebook handy in my car, and if I got stuck in a car line at school or waiting for an activity to end, I’d write something.
This is the year that I’m going to leave my comfort zone. I’ve written something that I plan to send to some publishers and see where it ends up. I’ve been sitting on it for, gulp, 16 years, and it’s time to dust it off, clean it up, and put it to work. It’s a children’s book, so I expect a slew of rejection due in part to the overwhelming amount of competition, but with the strength to face the criticism, I’m moving forward.
Who knows? If this doesn’t kill me, maybe I’ll find time to write that great American novel I told my senior high school year book I would. In the words of my all time favorite Disney character, “It is time.”
