Lynette Bishop Snell

Kindergarten and High School Graduation August 10, 2005

Today I sent my youngest, my son TJ, off to Kindergarten.

(TJ going off with his class)
He was very excited.  Almost as excited as his older sister, Molly, who started First Grade today as well.

(Molly with her teacher, Mrs. Traynham)

I kept a weak hold on my tears and emotions, only breaking down once.  I was quite proud, considering my new heightened state of emotional unambiguity (see my post “Not So Happy Pills” at http://www.lynettesnell.com/?p=3).

It’s quite difficult to express the emotions a mother feels as she watches her child go off to school.  All the usual ones sprint through the heart and mind:  Sorrow at them growing up, watching your child (& you) begin a new era of life as an old one passes away, looking toward the future and knowing there is no going back.

But today, one of my friends was standing nearby (his name is Chuck Berry and his daughter Annabeth is in Molly’s class) and as we all waved to our little ones heading off into “the world” without us,  he said, “Yeah, you can almost see them wearing that graduation cap & gown, can’t you?”  Did I need to hear that today?  I quickly informed him that I did not, in fact, need to think about an event which would hold it’s own very real emotional turmoil.  One turmoil at a time, please.

But it started me thinking:  graduation is truly only a bit more than twelve years away.  And since I have just hurtled through half that amount and am now sending my 6-year-old to school, I am inclined to think that Graduation will be here before I know it.  Especially for my daughter who is already one year closer.

I guess it’s a feeling of powerlessness.  I cannot stop the kids from growing up.  I cannot slow them down.  I cannot hurry them along, either (which, depending on the day of the week, I might want to do).  But regardless, this is a major turning point in both my life and that of my son.

As I said, there is no easy way to describe this experience, at least not for my limited expressive abilities.  Either way, it’s an emotional day and while I do not want my kids to be home all day (I need some alone time too!), I am sadden by yet another reminder that their toddler years are truly and completely over.

Graduation is next.

The Tale of Lillian Foster August 9, 2005

She’s young. She’s foolish. She screws her life up completely. She’s my heroine.

I had a flash of brilliance about three weeks ago. A sentence came to mind and I thought: What a perfect first sentence for a novel. I was driving around town running various errands and hauling my children along in an attempt to stave off the summer doldrums, when the streak of creativity hit me. I pondered it for a few moments as I sat in traffic, and, by the time I returned home, I was so excited I could hardly wait to sit down at my computer and begin the tale.

I wrote the entire story from start to finish in one sitting. I was thrilled! I had never done such a thing in my life. It was far from perfect but I had the story. I sent it off to my editor, Rita, and awaited her opinion. Then I actually read the thing. It was almost, but not quite, pure drivel.

Rita is and always will be my first line editor because she is so particular about suspending her disbelief. I like that in an editor. I decided as I read through the story from start to finish that, through her eyes, this story was ridiculous and totally unbelievable. So before I got her opinion, I asked her to throw it away. I had to start afresh.

Now, three plus weeks and twelve chapters later, I feel I finally have the beginnings of my first novel. It will never solve world hunger or bring about peace to trouble lands. It will never cause young boys to pick up books and begin reading in droves (a la JK Rowling). But it just might touch someone’s heart. And if I can accomplish that with this story, then I will have finally achieved what I have dreamed of doing my entire life: I will have become a writer.

We shall see, however, because Rita has yet to peruse this new, non-drivel version. It is quite outside her realm of normal reading. I am Romance all the way (Rosamunde Pilcher and Julia Quinn are my role models). She is Mystery/Crime (Dennis Lehane floats her boat, although Sue Grafton does not). But I still value her opinion. I crave it, in fact, for she forces me to be a better writer, which is what I need. I think everyone needs a person who will stay by their side (figuratively) and help them become a better person. In the realm of writing, Rita is my person-better-er.

I am close to learning how Lillian Foster’s tale will end. I am anxious to read the book from start to finish. I am also quite nervous to hear my editor’s take on the story. What a tale that might be!

I promise to report back here once I have a) finished the book; and b) gotten Rita’s comments.