September 12th, 2008
Ready to get into another one. Not sure how far to go. Not feeling it this morning. Would like to read, watch movies, get down on my hands and knees and play trucks with the Little Man. But there are things to do. We need to push past the end-of-week laziness. Pick up. Get to work. Get things done.
And this is part of it. Like it or not.
Published in Fragile Arts Quarterly. An up-and-coming publication that is quite beautiful with its focus on art as well as literature. It is available for purchase HERE. But don't fret, you don't have to actually purchase it and experience the joy of having the living breathing paper and ink in your hand.
You can download it for free.
That's right. Absolutely free. At the same link. It does take a while for it to download (lots of artistic images), but you wait in line at stores. In traffic. Sit through commercials. There's no reason why you can't click on a link and wait for a download. Maybe something will strike your fancy. My story won't. If anything it will dampen your spirits. Bring you down a notch. But you are more than welcome to read it anyway. And drop me a line. A few of you have already read it. Most of you have not.
Why, oh why?
Little Lauren Conrad from MTV's show "THE HILLS" can ink a deal with HarperCollins, but here I am. In the upstairs room. Fingers still wailing away at the keys. Looking out the window. Raindrops everywhere. Crickets still singing for mates. But our song is not to be heard. For whatever reason. Just not yet.
It is about working hard. Working well. Hitting the soft spots. Breaking through. But it's also about who you know. When you know them. And how much you are willing to give. And give. And give.
I have the latter under control. It's the former...all of the former that needs my concentration.
But it's not that easy. I'm listening for little footsteps padding down the hallway.
"DADDY!" he'll yell.
Which is the best way for him to wake up. He likes coming to find me. Does not like me coming to find him. Sometimes, if I'm the first to say good morning, he'll turn and walk back to his room. Shut the door. Get back into bed.
Talk about rejection. Not inking the deal. But I still work at it with him. Our mornings are getting more and more routine. I wake early, get S.B. off to work, then write until I hear those feet. Once I hear them, I start downstairs. Once we meet in the living room, I judge by his demeanor how to proceed. Some mornings, I say nothing. I get his cereal ready, set it on the table, then he comes running.
And he hugs me.
Other mornings, I'll kneel down so we are eye-to-eye and ask him, how was sleep?, and he'll look away. Cover his face. Once in a while, he'll hug me.
He is not a morning person. Which is just fine. And each morning is different.
Yesterday, he was cheery. Bright-eyed. Carrying his stuffed puppy down the hallway, singing a morning song. And he hugged me and kissed me and wanted to watch PBS.
"PBS kids?" he asked.
"Sure thing," I said. And I got his cereal ready. Some apple juice. Watched as he ate and drank and watched TV. An animated series about a group of kids that go around solving problems by making sentences out of various words. It's actually pretty good.
Not sure which Little Man will greet me this morning. Doesn't matter. I love each one of them. Some days just take more work than others.
With all that said, I'm ready to get into another one. Not sure how far I'll go, but I'm starting to feel it this morning. I'd like to read, watch movies, get down on my hands and knees and play trucks with Little Man. Because even though there's work to be done, it's not the work we'll remember. It's the playing that we've done that will get tucked away and saved for a rainy day.
It won't be the stories. The publications. Inking deals.
It will not be about the people that have or have not read the writing.
It is and always will be about my wife, S.B. and our Little Man.
(copyright © 2008 by K.J. Stevens)