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Wroblewski’s Webcast

If you’ve not read David Wroblewski’s The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, you must.  I reviewed it shortly before Oprah picked it as one of her Book Club selections.  You can read my review here, but be forewarned, I include spoilers, so you may want to wait until after reading.

This past Monday evening, Oprah held a webcast for Wroblewski, the author of the book, and if you are a writer, you might be interested in viewing, solely for the sake of learning how writing is a serious and deliberate craft.  So much goes into the making of a story and its characters.  You can find the webcast here, if you’re interested.

Today, I’m rather blue.  I’m having one of those Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Days.  It’s all due to the fact that my expectations of Liliana going to Montessori, starting next week, will not last an entire morning, like we originally thought.  Call me a horrible mother, but I wear more titles than just Liliana’s mom, and I need those other avenues to feel sane and happy when I’m with her.  I had given myself to these past 5 months (yes, it’s been that long since we left for the Ukraine!), wholly and utterly (I realize these are synonyms…I’m using them for emphasis!), so that little L. would learn she’s loved, and that she might understand that we’re with her forever, as long as she’ll have us.  But I desperately miss the writing, and I know my dear agent (bless his heart!) and my wonderful editors (bless their hearts, too!) are awaiting my second novel, which is only partially completed.  This stresses me to no end, and to learn yesterday that this sole dedication to my little one might last even longer (in the sense that we’ll be apart only two hours a morning, rather than four) has thrown me for a loop (yes, I realize, too, that this is a cliche, but don’t test me here.  I’m crabby).

What fascinates me is that mothers don’t talk about this part–about wanting to put their child on a shelf for a bit, just to breathe, then taking them down when they’re ready again (great analogy, M!).  I’m admitting it, and I wanted and planned for this child.  I would go to the ends of the earth for her.  I love her with all my heart and body.  If anyone dared lifted a finger against her, I’d want to teach them a thing or two.  So, this longing just to get my stuff done is flummoxing, and the realization that it won’t happen, any time soon, is even more frustrating.

Please tell me I’m not crazy.  Please tell me that this, too, shall pass.  And if, instead, you want to tell me what a despicable mother I am, please don’t.  I don’t think I could bear hearing that right now.

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