Warning. I have a concussion. So I can’t be held responsible for what I post and that’s why I haven’t posted in several days. I’d like to say I got this concussion from an incident that involved a tire iron and possibly a clairvoyant basset hound, but alas, that was another post. And no, I didn’t get it from banging my head against the keyboard, though given how I’m feeling about Promise, the sequel to Witness, that’s a good guess. No, I got it from one of my children’s toys, as much as it pains me to admit that. One of these days we can discuss how much damage children and their toys inflict on their parents. Ever stepped on a plastic block or a Matchbox car?
Anyhow, with that warning out of the way …
Woo hoo! I’m officially a “writer.” You may wonder how I got this official status bestowed on me. Well, I’ll tell you. I visited my daughter’s second grade class. They are learning about writing, and her teacher asked me, a “real” writer, to come in and talk to them about it. So there you have it. By virtue of being asked to speak on a topic as a professional, I have now been recognized as said professional. Forget publication, awards, reviews. Just need the recognition of twenty second graders. And my daughter’s beaming face. “That’s my mom!”
Pretty cool, huh?
Of course, the teacher got sick just before I was going to speak, no reflection on me I’m sure. So the principal stepped in to take over the class. Now, I don’t know about you, but I still have a strange reaction to principals. I sat up straight, made sure I wasn’t chewing gum or talking. Oh wait, I was supposed to be talking. Anyhow, after I remembered I was an adult, I did just fine.
We talked about stories for about twenty minutes. Played a few “What if” games. They asked really good questions, including what I liked to read. They loved the fact that I use the Internet to stay in touch with other writers all over the country. And of course they were hugely impressed that I made enough money last year at writing to go out to dinner. Once.
And the respect of a classroom full of second graders might be enough to motivate me to get back to my keyboard and try and make something of Promise. Of course, by the time my name actually appears on the front of a book, they won’t be in second grade anymore. Sigh.
