No, I’m not published.  I haven’t heard anything from any literary editors.

Regardless, today is a good writing day.  All the lack of confidence from yesterday has been swept away.

Why?

My daughter, that’s why.  And my niece.  Definitely my niece.

Starting with my daughter.  She was assigned to write a story about a famous work of art.  Somehow, she was paired with Edvard Munch’s The Scream.  A bit creepy.

Next thing I know, my daughter has crafted this intense story about a man in Romania who is possessed by a demon known as Scream.  And the writing is actually good.  For a sixth grader who hasn’t been trained on creative writing, she has some really good mood and tone and tension.

Dog, I’m proud of my daughter.

Currently, she has selected a literary magazine that she is going to submit her story to.  Tomorrow, we are going to edit and edit and edit some more.  And I have been honest with my edits.  I recommended to her that she work on the second half of the story when it got a little campy.  The voice didn’t match the first half of the story.

And my amazing daughter didn’t get all sobby or miserable.  She nodded her head and acknowledged the possible issue and asked for help, tomorrow, after she has turned in her story at school.

Rock on!  This is my daughter who, last week, came up with a great poetry line about “shards of rainbows.”

Love it.  No one is allowed to steal this from her.  I am going to see if I can help her chase this line and construct a poem out of it.

And together we are going to edit and write and revise and submit and maybe, just maybe, she’ll be the published writer of the family.  And I will do everything in my power not to be jealous and to celebrate her successes.  But I’ll be right behind her, chasing that publishing dream.

My niece (my brother’s daughter) is my other main muse.  When she was a little girl, we used to get into insult fights in which I would call her a “Shnarkyfort.”  Don’t ask me what it is.  It’s a combination of syllables and sounds and made for  a good sounding insult.  My niece would immediately turn around and call me the same thing. Eventually, she asked me what  Shnarkyfort was and I decided it was an ugly animal that needed my niece to teach it how to fly.

So I made up a story a long time about my niece teaching the Shnarkyfort how to fly.

And then my niece grew up and the Shnarkyfort disappeared from my memories and my dreams and I went about my life.

Recently, though, I have been thinking a lot about my niece and some of the challenges that she has faced as she grew up.  And I started playing with the old story I used to tell her nearly twenty years ago.

Tonight, I finally wrote the story/children’s book.  About a little girl who is suffering from some pretty big stuff who goes into seclusion to hide away from the world.  And she meets the Shnarkyfort (an imaginary friend living in her closet).  And the Shnarkyfort brings the little girl out of her home and back into the world.

The “book” is only to be a 1000 words.  Currently, it’s at 1500 but I’m too tired to edit out more words at this point.  And my niece is going to illustrate it because she is amazing and talented and gifted and amazing.  Did I say that she’s amazing?  Because she is.

I have requested two people to read the book and give me their opinions.  I sent it to a former student who has a beautiful son who is the perfect age for the story.

Let’s see.

In the meantime, it’s bed time.  And it’s been a wonderful writing day.  And I worked on my own novel earlier.  And it’s been a wonderful day.

Thank God.  I needed today.