I WROTE A BOOK

“I wrote a book.”

The first time I uttered the words, I was sitting at an airport bar drinking mimosas with my good friend and bride to be Megan as we were waiting for our flight to Nashville for a weekend of bacheloretting.

I had mentioned to a few that I wanted to write children’s books. I had told some I had ideas for children’s books. I had been mulling over the idea of writing for months and months, honestly probably years.

In my mind, I always thought, I am not a writer. I did not go to school for this. I have never written before, not creatively anyway. There are so many other people out there that could do better. I am no author.

Then one day I sat down, I looked at my phone and in 20-30 minutes I typed a draft in a Google doc. It had no title, the farm had no name. But, I knew who the character was. I knew him well. I knew him because he was real. Fred. I spent a year and a half in my mid twenties getting to know Fred and his family as their nanny. A boy named Fred. Now a farmer named Fred with a dog that lived on a no name farm that had to find a lost duckling.

I had done it. I WROTE a book.

Megan looked at me bewildered as my statement was understated and quiet. “You wrote a book?” “ Well just a draft,” I answered back. I knew what was coming, I was terrified. “Can I read it?” she asked. I finished my mimosa and ordered another, “Ok, but don’t laugh. Remember it’s just a draft.”

For the 5 minutes it took for Megan to read the draft on the Google doc on my phone at the bar in the airport, I sat worried and mildly sweaty thinking to myself “this was so dumb. I never should have mentioned it.”

Finally, Megan looked at me and smiled the most genuine smile and said “Annie, I can imagine reading this to my kids.” I may mention here that Megan has been an elementary school educator for a decade and she now teaches reading remediation.

That was all the validation I needed. Someone else sincerely thought my words could be read aloud to a classroom of students. Then Megan said, “ I can imagine reading this to my own kids, at home and telling them mommy’s friend AB wrote this book.” Now I have tears in my eyes because not only can Megan see my words as a book, but as a book she would share with her own family. Naturally Megan’s eyes welled up too and we shared a hug, finished our mimosas and caught our flight to Nashville.

I WROTE a book. It was real. Someone had read it, and liked it. I wrote a book. Now what?