So, over the weekend I charted my hero's journey for my children's story, and began developing the main characters, throwing them out to Brian who loved them and had his own suggestions. Since I want this story to appeal to boys, especially boys who have difficulty reading, his input is invaluable.
This reminds me of when I was his age and my mother would make Raggady Ann and Andy dolls. My mother, the incredible seamstress that she is, would create these magnificent Raggady Ann and Andy dolls for me and for gifts for all my cousins. No matter how many I had, every time she would work on one, I would find myself wanting it, even though it was to go to a cousin across the states. My mother would finish a leg, and I would carry around and love just the leg, then she would finish an arm, and I would do the same.
When the doll was complete, I would have conversations with him or her, naming them and explaining that I had to let it go. My mother said it was the most amazing guilt put on a parent by a small child. (See...I was good even then). I helped choose the fabrics and the hair color - always just the right shade of red, so naturally I wanted them. They were a part of me, like a younger sibling. On the day they were to be packed for shipping, I would gather my collection of rag dolls about my tea table and throw a tea "going away" party, which would have my mother providing the cookies.
When Brian began to give me feed back on my story I thought of the days I walked around loving the rag dolls. He wanted to read every word of the story, poking his head through my arm and asking "What did you write"?
At the end of the day Brian knocked over my coffee on all my notes, so now I have coffee stains throughout. I wanted to yell, but did not - he felt bad. Hey, the thoughts are permanently in my head, doesn't matter at this stage how they come out....coffee stained and all.
But I did joke, "Is this a sign not to do this"? (We catholics talk out loud to saints, and I always chat with Saint Jude).
The answer I hear back is "No, it's just a sign you have a kid...".
C
