I’ve long dreamt of being a published author. When I was twelve I had ambitions of being the youngest best selling author in America. Well, that boat sailed without me on it. But the dream persisted and now I am a published author.
The thing is, I figured that by the time I was a published author I’d have lost those pesky ten pounds, that my wardrobe would be a little more stylish, that my dining room table could be used for dining, without having to sort and organize a month’s worth of stuff.
Dinner doesn’t make itself, the laundry still piles up, and the kids aren’t any more obedient. Wasn’t my life supposed to change in wonderful and magical ways when I became a published author? No? Oh. I guess I didn’t get that memo.
But of course the pay-off is big. I’ve gotten to hold my book in my hands. I’ve gotten to see it held in other people’s hands and there was a special light in my daughter’s eye when she sat down to read a book her mom had written.
So, when do all the magical changes happen? Is it the second book? Anyone know? Or maybe (just maybe) I need to exercise more, and you know, clean the house.
Thanks so much for hanging out with us this week, Christine. We'll be looking forward to that next book!