I’m putting this post up late tonight, because it’s summer and I’m involved in so many different things right now. Like cleaning and defrosting the fridge.
In addition to getting caught up on various household chores that I’ve been putting off for months (years), I’ve also been torturing my children. No, I haven’t waterboarded them for leaving the Ipad in the middle of the floor where someone can come this close to stepping on it before they notice and lunge to the side to avoid it, moving with the sure grace of a heron stomping on a power line. Though the idea occurred. No, this torture is much more mundane and omnipresent. I’m torturing them by not doing what they want me to do right now.
School is out. The kids are around all the time, and they want all sorts of things. Books read. Shows started. Food. The park. The pool. Food, again. They want, so they ask. Over and over, until Dad goes all owly-bear.
Thing is, I get it. They want–whatever–really bad, and most of the time they can only get it through me or their mother. They can’t make pizza, they can’t download anything from Itunes without our stamp of approval, and we’ve really cracked down on letting the five year old drive to the pool. They have to rely on us, and we’re pretty crappy on the follow through. We keep having other things to do (see refrigerator, scary), other things to spend our money on, we’re always doing boring things with other people, and for some reason we’re awful cranky when asked for breakfast early in the morning.
It’s all out of their hands, and it’s torture for them. We have access to all these amazing things–TV, candy, bouncy houses–and when they ask about them our answer is usually no. Or maybe, followed by a long wait, and then no. And do our explanations make sense. No. Laws? Safety? Money? These things are just our way of keeping them down.
Now, can you guess how I’m going to connect this to writing?
What if I told you I had twelve things out right now? What if I said that over half of them have been in their respective slush piles for way longer than is average (at least according to my tracking sites)?
Editors have lives (right Kelly?). Jobs, families, hobbies. Parties to go to, cats to photograph, refrigerators to defrost. Their slush piles are just another job to do. They’ll get to it.
Meanwhile, I wait, and worry, and wonder. This time, this market, this story. Will it work? Will they love it? Will they? Will they?
Will there be a bouncy house?
(Spoiler alert- No, usually not. And are my kids, for some reason, are seldom sympathetic.)