I’ve wanted to be an author for as long as I can remember.  It started out innocently enough: I loved books.  I still love books.  So, if I loved books so much, why not write one?  The prospect seemed easy enough…but it’s not. 

After rejections and dead-ends, I found a publisher who is willing and ready to take me on.  Hooray!!  I should be doing cartwheels and back hand-springs (if I knew how), but instead I am doing this: wallowing in self-pity. 

It’s hard!  I am sticking out my bottom lip into the quintessential pout.  I want to run and scream and hide.  I think I will pluck my eyeballs out and crawl under a rock. 

The hardest part is this: revisions and deadlines.  I didn’t really complain too much about writing until someone told me I couldn’t do it.  Or do it “well.”  I have been questioning my own abilities, my own research, and my “voice,” as I put words on paper and ship ’em off to reviewers.   Revising work that I once thought was “pretty good,” is getting my tummy all knotted up and making me want to chuck my laptop out the window!  I am losing sleep and feeling cranky.  I want it done.  Now. 

So, I guess I am going to roll up my sleeves and get to work.  (As if I haven’t been doing that for the past 2+ years I’ve been writing this darn thing)!  Oh, and did I mention that I am still mom to two little girls and I still have a house to clean and a husband to hang out with?  I still have other interests and obligations beyond my own book writing, too.  I still have to shower and eat and sometimes I even want to watch TV or read a book, heaven-for-bid! 

But I will do it.  “May Day” has a whole new meaning for this writer mama!  Write, on.