The companion book to 'Hey Little Baby' has been revised, rewritten, edited, reformatted, and worked at diligently for over two years. Each time I get what I think is a great sequel, turns out it is not. How can writing less then 200 words be so challenging? Shouldn't it just be a game of playing with words?
What I want to know is this: where are the angels, whispering in my ear the exact words to make the story perfect? Why has The Universe not 'downloaded' the information into my brain? Why has the million dollar idea of what to write not come to me in a dream, or while sipping tea, or playing at the beach? Is there a goddess I could sacrifice to in exchange for the exact words that will make a NY Times best seller? I'm willing to sacrifice a tofu meatloaf.
Last week, I was inspired with the feeling of what the book should consist of. Watching a toddler run down the mall, I thought about her new ability to move where she wanted to move--not where the stroller took her. Awe, that bliss of freedom, of movement. The unlimited choices of where to go, what to do, what to see. What a joyful thing to be able to make your own choices.
Oh, guess what? Some ideas came forth. Ideas that I've now written down and am playing with to form the words that will make the NY Times best selling children's picture book.
Which goddess should I thank?