Yes, I know, 'get to the point, Captain Obvious!'
I'll get there in a minute. I've posted here about getting rejection letters (I have a few... okay, more than a few) about some of the fiction pieces I've submitted, and also my rare acceptance letter. Only two so far, and one of those stories is being published this month as a matter of fact. I believe I posted about that acceptance letter, and the excitement and emotions it brought me (Click here to see the blog entry titled "Published?" if you're curious). I had an experience recently that was a little similar.
We have tried a lot of things to get my son to read. He just turned 9, and he says flat out that he has no interest in it. He doesn't mind being read to, but he doesn't want to do the reading himself. There are... let me see ... three bookcases scattered about his house, one of them quite large, filled with books we have gotten him. All with the specific aim of sparking his interest. Kid's stories, adventure stories, silly stories, stories up the old whazoo. No dice.
This past Wednesday, Handsome's first day of the 4th grade, his new teacher had a surprise for him. They all have to read for at least 30 minutes a night! This is in addition to any other homework she may assign, and the parents have to sign off on it.
Well, I heard Handsome was livid when he got home. I was at work and missed the show, but I'm sure it was spectacular. After work, when I went over there for my nightly visit, I saw something out on the dining room table. It was the ring-binder in which I've been putting "The Adventures of Tommy and Eric", a science fiction series I have been writing for him for about a year now. There are four stories so far, each about 30-35 pages long. When I finish one it becomes a bedtime story, and once I read it to him it goes in the binder. It wasn't in its usual place on the bookshelf, but was out on the table.
"What's this doing out here?" I pointed the binder out to Handsome, who was sitting at the table finishing his homework.
He looked up from his work, and his face was glum.
"We have to read a half hour every night."
"Yeah," I said. "Mom told me."
"So I'm reading this," he said pointing at the binder.
I looked at the big bookcase we were sitting next to, and thought about the two others that are in the house. All those stories, some of which he chose himself or even asked for on is own, all the adventure stories, kid's stories, silly stories and stories out the whazoo, and he chose to read the ones I had written? I sat there, stunned, feeling a bit of a lump in my throat.
I've gotten rejection letters about my work, and I've gotten acceptance letters about my work. I prefer the acceptance letters, trust me. This isn't exactly another acceptance letter, but it's close. Close, but different.
Close, but better.
Talk to you later!