I sometimes feel like my family, friends and pets aren’t getting enough attention. There are many times when I feel like I’m neglecting those I care about the most, or even worse, driving them nuts.
My husband and I used to have a dog named Buddy. He lived to chase or catch the tennis ball. There was nothing he enjoyed more than chasing that yellow toy, and he’d race after it until he dropped if we’d let him. Ball was the number one word on his Doggie List of Favorite Things. My husband used to say that if he could read Buddy’s mind, he’d hear, “Ball, ball, ball, ball, ball. Where’s my ball? When is my person going to throw the ball? I know I’m in my hunting stance, but I can’t help it. I’m patiently waiting. Ball, ball, ball, ball, ball.”
My husband once told me that I was just like Buddy, except if he could read my mind he’d hear, “Book, book, book, book, book.” He was right, too. I can’t help it. It’s like a disease of sorts; you can’t stop thinking about that next scene, or even the next book. Is anyone going to buy my new book? Will they like it? Will I handle the marketing and promotion the way I should? Will anyone show up for my events? Thankfully, my husband was a very patient man.
I used to be an avid reader, but I don’t have as much reading time as I used to. So I read books when I can, and in the meantime I read everything from the newspaper to blogs to cereal boxes.
As a writer I people-watch, looking at personalities and mannerisms, debating whether or not they can be used in a book, and wondering if my characters are believable. Everything makes me think of books and writing.
Then there’s my daughter. She has to listen to my ideas, whether she wants to or not. She listens when I write my blogs and tells me if something sounds, well, dumb. She listens to me talk about marketing and promotion. She checks out my website to be sure everything looks good. And, bless her heart, she tells everyone about her mother, the author. She even gives my books to friends as gifts. Thankfully, like my husband (God rest his soul), she’s a patient woman.
My relatives, in-laws and friends aren’t safe either. I share thoughts and ideas and tell them the latest tidbit about what’s been going on. Either they’re very good actors, or they actually listen. More patience.
This is almost laughable because I’m such an impatient woman.
So I frequently try to step back and think about what I’m saying and doing, for all the good it does. I’m a good listener though, even if my mind does wander from time to time. Advice is as far away as the telephone if anyone needs it. Oh, yes, I’ve got more advice I’m dying to impart than anyone could possibly need. Every once in a while someone actually listens to me. I try; my intentions are good.
Frankly, I’m astonished that none of these relatives and friends avoid me. I might be tempted if I were them. But I love each and every one of them, and I’d give them the stars if it was possible. However, I can’t, so I guess I’ll just have to muddle along as best I can, and remain thankful that the people in my life are so wonderful.
Oh, dear, it’s the holiday time of year. One of these days I’ll think up a good storyline dealing with Thanksgiving or Christmas. I have an idea, and… Nevermind. I’ll write it down somewhere for later use.
Until next time, I wish you a week filled with family and friends who understand you and who have lots of patience.
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Looking for something to fill up those hours between work and Christmas shopping? (ha ha ha) You might give Having a Great Crime – Wish You Were Here – A Sandi Webster Mystery a try.
And don’t forget, books make great Christmas gifts.