The Gray Willow

How many books are inside of me?

This is the question I find myself asking and do and do not want to know the answer. Am I like Harper Lee who wrote To Kill a Mockingbird, her only book (though I am in no way comparing my book to hers) or might I successfully pen several? It's possible to strike these keys, form 80,000 words, but to make them readable, loveable, how many stories will I have the power to nurture into something someone would want to read?

So, recently I've decided to treat every story I submit to my agent as my final novel--my own To Kill a Mockingbird because what if it's the only one? I'll love it, baby it, fine-tune the heck out of it because, again, what if it's the only one?

Now believe me, this is so very far from what I wish. I plan to write fiction for the rest of my life. But you know how it is--an idea strikes you and you absolutely have to write it before letting it go. Your heart pounds when you should be sleeping and you'd much rather type on your keyboard in pajamas in lieu of going out with friends. But then there's the times in between. When your kiddos are tucked safely away with your husband or sitters and... and... the words, the stories, the power doesn't come. Of course, in those instances, it's oh so relieving to have a stack of books waiting for you on your end table. They're your salvation, offering to fill you up in those times of need. It's what happens. I've come to terms with it. But this is why I need to be awake EVERY DAY, listening to others' stories, having my own adventures, listening to music, because when the ideas come I can be ready to rip open the keyboard and make the story happen, because these moments are the rewards I seek from writing from the very start.

So no, my current story will not be my only one, but I'll treat it like it. And I'll keep writing whether the power has less voltage or I'm ripping open the keyboard again.