Surreal.  That’s the word that fills my soul this week.  I find myself remembering at odd times that I am going to be a published author.  Me.  Brooke.  That nerdy girl who always wrote stupid stories as a little girl and couldn’t be pried away from her books even over Christmas vacation with family members talking around me.  Who had to be told to put down Harry Potter at Easter, so that I could spend quality time with my grandmother.  Who had to be told that my grandfather was talking to me, and I should answer his questions and lay my book down. 

Published.  This word is changing my life.  Sure, I may never “make it big”, but that’s never been on my agenda.  I’ve only ever cared about that word.  Published.  I told myself it was a dream (insert Aragorn, LOTR, quote here….”It was a dream, Arwen.  A beautiful one, but a dream all the same.”).  So, after I told my friends in pre-K that I wanted to be a power ranger and got laughed at, I decided that telling people I wanted to be a writer would warrant the same response.  I hid that dream away in the secret depths of my soul only to be revisited in dreams or wistful moments. 

But then something happened.  I got old.  (“I am old, Gandalf!  I feel like butter stretched over too much bread.”)  I think I watch too much LOTR.  Thanks, Tolkien, by the way.  Great series, and even better movies.  So, yes, I got old, and I worried that my dream would never see the light of day.  So, I decided to try.  Trying is important, no matter what Yoda says.  With a try, you get to first base, and with another try, you get to second.  It takes 4 tries to get to home plate, and sometimes even more than that if you get rushed back to the previous base.  So, I tried, and boy, it was hard.  Sometimes I cried, and sometimes I was so overjoyed that I couldn’t sleep with images and words floating around in my head all night.  Most times I was just angry.  I didn’t have it quite right, and I was angry about it. So, I would table it and push it back in my brain to let it sizzle for a while.  Sometimes, this process lasted for a few months. Sometimes, just a few days.  I remember writing the last chapter.  It took me a whole month to get it right.  When I did, I just felt it.  I knew that it was perfect. 

So, now I’m on my way.  I am so humbled that someone read my words and thought they were worth sharing with the world.  I wish that my Pawpaw and Mawmaw could be here for this.  I knew I always shared my love of books with them.  They understood what it meant to hold and cherish books.  I remember crawling into bed with my Pawpaw when he had his lights on way past bedtime and was reading his favorite book.  His were usually westerns.  He’d tell me the next morning that after he sent me to bed, he read for several hours at a time.  It’s silly, but it’s a habit my father and I have chosen to inherit from him.  Some nights I will read for hours.  Some nights I wake up and decide to read instead of sleep.  It has become one of my happiest hobbies, and I knew he shared that.  I hope he would be proud of what I have done, and I hope he knows that he’s been on my mind and in my heart the whole time I’ve been doing it. 

I also am thankful for support.  My mother and I shared a significant moment a few years back on one of my birthdays.  It’s strange because I don’t think I have shared this with anyone since it happened. I opened a gift from her, and it was a beautiful journal.  When I opened it, I said, “Oh a journal!! Great!”  (I love to write in journals when I have time too.), but my mom said no.  She said, “I know you’ve been waiting to start it, but I think its time you write your book now.”  She smiled at me, and I was at a loss for words.  After that, I felt that I had permission to start my dream.  That it could be achieved.  It’s amazing to have someone believe in you like that.  It has made all the difference for me.