Arriving at the precipice of publishing my first book, I am flooded with conflicting feelings. Disbelief is a frontrunner. I have spent many moments fantasizing about being a published author. The closer I come, the definition of what that means to me changes. Years ago, the fantasy carried me. It was that goal awaiting me that gave me a special purpose.
Becoming a published author would somehow (in my way of envisioning it) elevate my spirit. I would have an actual book filled with my writing, my name on the front! Oh, and maybe that tiny headshot on the back cover. You know the one, with arms folded across my chest, leaning slightly backward, of course with a smile. I’m too transparent to act cool. Some authors can pull that off really well. Once you read the chapter about my mom’s lack of smiles, you will understand that a severe picture isn’t for me.
My headshot, thanks to JC Penney, turned out to be a perfect arm folded shot. For a nominal fee, it was much better than what I could come up with on my own. At 65, you need lighting and a mild background, and apparently, arms crossed—a very relaxed pose, quite contrary to the experience. If there’s a second book, maybe I can graduate to a private photographer, nothing against the nice gal at JC Penney’s. As a matter of fact, my new neighbor is a photographer. (I see potential in that new friendship.) Now I just need to write a second book to go with the new hipper photo.
I’m enjoying poking fun looking at the lighter side of my dreams. It’s essential to have a sense of humor about everything, but most importantly, myself.
So, here’s the real deal. Yes, the idea that a book will soon be in print, hopefully selling, with my name on it makes me cry as I write this. I inherited my crying genes from my dad who is somewhere in heaven crying right now with me. He’s proud of his girl. Whether people love my book or hate it, I have accomplished something important on my bucket list. And the truth is, I’m busting my buttons over that fact.
But did it elevate me, as I thought it would? No. The hours I spend writing, whether for the blog or the book, are what elevate me. In the end, it isn’t so much the accomplishment, although that feels good. It’s the process that has been the true joy, bringing me to that human connection. Writing a blog offers an instant kinship, whereas the book hopefully will offer that at the tail end of the process. Regardless, sitting at my computer with my fingers racing along the keys allows me to make sense of life’s moments and share them, good, bad, pretty or ugly. We are all in this boat together.
I have learned many things from writing. But probably most important, I’ve learned how easy it actually is to be real… flawed, insecure, afraid, unhappy, imperfect. I share my warts, and my readers reach back, which in turn gives me wings.
My dad was a musician who was denied his passion in his late twenties (his story in my chapter entitled The Gift). My father is third from the right. He introduced the piano to me as a young girl. I practiced religiously. I wasn’t bad, but I wasn’t great either. I could memorize enough to play Beethoven’s Fur Elise. My fingers still remember the notes. I performed in a few recitals. I moved from teacher to teacher.
Funny side note, one teacher told me I couldn’t excuse myself during a piano lesson to go to the bathroom. When my mother heard that, she told me next time to just pee on the piano bench. Yikes, these parents of mine were an exciting match. I had enough of my dad in me to never consider that, but I’m grateful all these years later that I inherited some of my mom’s spunk.
But I digress (what else is new?)
After about six years of lessons entering my teen years, likely much more interested in boys than piano, my dad acquiesced and allowed me to quit my lessons. These many years later, I know that was the right decision. While my dad definitely taught me a love of music, I wasn’t destined to be a musician. Nevertheless, I felt tremendous guilt. I inherited that piano and dragged it with me through the years before finally letting go of my dad’s dream along with the piano. (Piano movers were expensive!) I hadn’t lived up to his dreams. And more importantly, I hadn’t rectified the fact that he had lost his ability to play music. Never underestimate the depth of a child.
But my fingers learned a dexterity that I would use to work as a court reporter for just shy of 20 years, recording witnesses in the courtroom often speaking at over 225 words a minute. And while that was an excellent career, it still never entirely made up for the fact I wasn’t an accomplished piano player. Mind you, this wasn’t my dad saying any of this. This was my heart aching over letting my dad down.
As I write this blog on the outskirts of my upcoming book, I see that more importantly my dad passed on his artist’s heart. And he equipped me with fingers that can race over the keys as quickly as my mind can generate thoughts. I’m just playing a different instrument.
I am humbled by my blessings. I know my dad is smiling down, of course with tears in his eyes.
More to come as I reminisce about the experience of writing this book.
9 Comments
Beautiful! I can’t wait to hear more about your book and when it will be available for purchase. 💖
I can’t wait to order my book and devour every word!
I think I can arrange for an autographed copy at no charge! 🙂
Well you know that one of my most embarrassing moments in life was asking your father “ if you could still play your violin now?” His answer horrified me! He explained that he didn’t CHOOSE to stop playing music. More that he cut off one of his fingers in a terrible accident and therefore had to give up one of the biggest passions in his a life! I wanted to melt into liquid and slither away.😳 Thank you for reminding me of this special conversation I had with your father about the beauty of music in ones life. I shared his passion. I didn’t know that you tried so hard to share it too! Can’t wait for your book!
Oh my God, this is so funny. I remember this well, only one of so many funny moments in our lifetime together. My dad never would have felt badly about your question. He probably found it funny. He shared not only your love for music, but also your love of humor. All good! Love you Sissy.
Thanks for the “realness reminder.”
Your dad is very handsome! Would love to see a picture of your mom too.
Thanks, Dianna. I will definitely be including pictures of my mom in future posts, and there are many pictures of her in the book!
Beautiful word’s, looking forward to your journey! Proud of you!
Thanks, Diane!