In Which I Consider Writing a Book

So, I have this friend, this dear sweet friend, who moves to to the big city to work for this publishing company. But, weeks before she goes she tells me of her plan and she says to me, “Maggie! I’m gonna make you an author!” She tells me this with a gleam in her eye and a happy grin and she says it like it’s her shining dream. “You need to write a book,” she adds, and in the moment, I don’t exactly believe her. I mean, goodness, I’ve got my own list of need-to’s. I need to get my house clean. I need to start by making up my bed on a consistent basis. I need to become a runner. So I can eat chocolate and not look like I eat chocolate. There’s a lot of things I need to do.

But, my friend, she doesn’t let up and every time she sees me, she says it again and she plants this seed in my heart. At first it just settles there in the dark. But somewhere between sorting out the laundry, washing out the sippie cups, pushing Hopey on the swing and teaching Gideon how to pull up his own britches, somewhere in the middle of all that, this seed gets watered and catches light and a little green shoot springs up.

Because she had said it and others had said it and Brent, he had nodded quiet, eyes gleaming, too, and he had reassured me that he’d support me however he could. And then there was this morning that I had called up my mama and just before hanging up, I’d mentioned it to her and she had told me quite emphatically, “Oh! I always knew you would write a book!” Now, that probably doesn’t strike you as funny, but you have to remember that I wasn’t adopted till I was seven, so my mom, she hasn’t even always known me, but somehow, as only a mama could, she always knew I would write a book. Always. I suppose moms are like that.

So, last night, my two publishing friends come for supper, the one I love so dearly and the other I have only recently met. And before they come, I’m standing in my room by my closet and I’m laughing on the inside, because what does an author wear, anyways? And I decide, that if indeed this does all happen, this book-writing thing, that I’ll never really look the part, so I just pick something I like and head downstairs.

And though I have a lot of nagging doubts and fears about writing a book, (so many that it would take a whole other blog post), I realize as we’re chatting on the couch that this friend has passed on her shining dream to me. Because I can feel this little green shoot growing up in my heart and all I know to do for now is nurture it. 

And my friend, she asks me questions that publishing people ask and I have to admit that I don’t know what in tarnations I would actually write a book about but these girls give me pointers on where to start thinking, while Brent corrals the kids and I try to listen over all the roucous.

I tell you all this because this seems like a fun adventure and I was hoping you would come along with me. Because books are written for people (profound, I know) and the people that I love the most are the ones right here in front of me. And I don’t want to just add words to all the words in the world, but I think I’d like to put my heart down on pieces of paper, let them bind it up together so I can hand it out to you. But hearts don’t easily get jotted down, you know? So, I’m gonna need some help with that.

I guess what I’m really asking is this. Will you love me in the process? I really want you here with me. And if you’re the praying kind, would you pray along the way with me? Because if God isn’t in this, then all those words will lay flat, and if so, I’d rather just spend my time putting away the dishes.

Please? And thank you. A hundred times, thank you.

And peace to you, my friends.


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