18 Days...But Who Is Counting?
"Why is Mommy crying?"
"She's happy," my husband assured our daughter.
"Mommy's not sad?" she asked.
"No Mommy is very very happy," he said. "It's Mommy's book, see. It's Mommy's book."
"Oh, Mommy's book. Let me see, let me see. Oh, look it's Mommy, a picture of Mommy."
"Yes, and look there is your name."
"Where? Mommy read it."
"Okay. Finally, to Chad Henderson, Hayden, and Grace, the true believers in my life. With their love and support all things are possible. They are my every wish and my every dream come true." I read to my daughter. "See right there, it's your name."
"Ahh, that's nice." She said and hopped on her princess bouncy ball (with pictures of Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Jasmine, Snow White, Belle, and Arielle) and boinged toward the kitchen.
"They'll never know you as anything else," my husband said, taking the baby from my arms. (Obviously fearful that with my newfoudn status of author I was now unable to hold our child)
"As agent or lawyer. To them, you'll always be a writer."
"I guess your right." I said. I watched my daughter bounce through the kitchen. And inside, I knew, as I've always known, that being a writer is exactly what I am and always will be. And now, I guess, everyone knows it too...or at least they will...in 18 days. April 10...HGC...bookstores...April 10.