by Stephanie Morrill
When I saw what I’d noted on the calendar for myself, I groaned. Partly because this is a tendency I’ve just started noticing in my own writing, which means it’s a mistake I’m sure I made in the Skylar Hoyt series.
And pointing out a flaw that’s in my published books brings up the same emotions as when I was 12 and swimming in a pond at a party. I ripped the butt of my bathing suit on a rock. Part of me wanted to cry, “No one look! I just ripped my bathing suit!” Of course you know you’re just drawing attention to it…
But I guess now is a great time for us to all be reminded that writing is something at which we never fully arrive. We will always be growing and improving in our craft.
Okay, I’m 135 words into this post and still haven’t identified the topic. Which is:
I felt so mad at my brother. “Britt, you give that back!”
My fingernails bit into my palm. “Britt, you give that back.”
“I didn’t know your mom was ever married,” Sandi says.
“She wasn’t.”
Sandi colors. “Oh.”
It had happened in her “hippie days,” as Mom puts it. Mom says they were practically over when she found out she was pregnant with me. He stuck with her through pregnancy and the first few months of my life. But Mom said it was obvious he didn’t want kids, and she was tired of winter. So she moved back to Orlando.
“I wasn’t exactly a planned child.” I force a smile and sip my coffee. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
Sandi colors. “Oh.”
“I happened in her ‘hippie days,’ as she puts it. Mom says they were practically over when she found out she was pregnant with me. He stuck with her through pregnancy and the first few months of my life, but…” I shrug. “Mom said it was obvious he didn’t want kids, and she was tired of winter. So she moved back here.”
Sandi’s blue eyes are round and unblinking. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you talk about yourself.”
I force a smile and sip my coffee. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”
“Well, it’s not like my mom planned to have me.”
Sandi colors. “Oh, right.”
I happened in Mom’s “hippie days,” as she puts it….