Since yesterday was Mother’s Day, I decided to divulge a story about my dearly departed Mother, whose life, sadly, was truncated by cancer in 2007. I miss her terribly, but her magic Mommy mojo still affects my life to this day.
When I was 12 years old, I wrote my very first, horribly written novel called DREAMS. Yes, I know…so fabulously original 
. It was basically a teenaged soap opera/romance, and this was in the pre-historic era of the late 70s, way before 90210 or Dawson’s Creek, so I guess I was ahead of my time, LOL…
That said, we didn’t have a typewriter, so I was writing this magnificent yarn long hand in a blue notebook. One day my mother walked in just after I’d finished drafting a chapter. She saw me cramming my manuscript under my mattress.
I was embarrassed. In that I was afraid everyone would think it was stupid, first of all because I was 12, secondly for fear someone would deduce that one of the main character’s love interest was based on someone in REAL LIFE, my first crush, a boy named Bobby. So, this treatise was kind of my fantasy too because Bobby and I might’ve exchanged less than a paragraph of conversation from junior high through high school. I was the shy bookworm while he was very outgoing and popular and dating a beautiful cheerleader instead of me . He’s bald now and has a really boring corporate job, but he looks happy in his Facebook photos with his lovely blonde wife.
But I digress…my mother gave me an odd look noticing my conspicuous behavior with the blue notebook and said, “What’re you hiding under there?”
“It’s, um, it’s a story I’m writing,” I replied sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.
At that, Mom frowned. “You’re a good writer, Kennedy. If you want to be a writer when you grow up, then, be a writer. Don’t let other people’s opinions keep your from your dreams,” Mom continued, smiling.
And that WORD – DREAMS, of course, seemed like a hint from the GREAT beyond that I should make some effort at this writing thing – since it was, after all, the title of my wickedly awful tome.
I nodded, but Mom could tell I wasn’t convinced.
“You should be proud of your writing. Take it out. Show it off because, otherwise, you’re never going to get anywhere if it stays under the bed. And if a couple of people don’t like it, so what? That’s ONE or two people in a 1,000 who might read it and love it.”
I chewed on that thought for a second when she followed up with…
“After all, they thought Edgar Allan Poe was a lunatic, and we’re still reading his work more than 100 years later.”
I had yet to discover the awesomeness of Poe, whom I would devour after reading MASK OF THE RED DEATH about a year later, so I asked, “Who’s that?”
“He’s a famous writer, kind of a Stephen King of the 1800s.”
“Oh,” I stammered, “I see.” Having just finished reading CARRIE by Mr. King, I nodded again. Those words of encouragement became my mantra. If Mom hadn’t been so supportive at such a vulnerable time in my life, I’m not sure I would’ve majored in Creative Writing or had the nerve to send my first sci-fi novel out to more than 200 publishers or to go out to Los Angeles and pitch my screenplays to film execs 2-3 times/year, one of whom worked for BAD ROBOT. I chatted with him for a few minutes about the sci-fi thriller I wrote in 2007.
Even though he passed on my script because it wasn’t a Tentpole project like The Dark Knight, the experience was invaluable. And he referred me to someone at Warner Brothers who eventually read my script. Unfortunately, they had one like it in the works, but STILL. I’ve been putting myself out there because of a 5-minute conversation with my mother more than 20 years ago.
Without Mom convincing me that I had the ability to craft a story…one of my short scripts wouldn’t have won First Place in Fade In Magazine’s Competition in 2011 because I probably would’ve done something else with my life. Maybe, I would’ve just continued teaching grade school, which I began to hate after a couple of years (long story for another post) or, perhaps, I would’ve become a nurse since they’re always in demand.
While I don’t make tons of money, I’m much happier at home editing, writing and doing script consulting than I EVER was in corporate America as a paralegal or working in HR. The entire 15+ years I was shackled to a desk in a cubicle, I felt like I was wearing someone else’s life. And it was a life-sucking/soul-crusing experience. And despite the agony of dealing with Nana, I’d still rather be at home arguing with her about why she should eat potato skins (see the previous post – http://tenaciousbitch.com/2013/05/08/post-95-what-i-cant-say-to-nana-maude-while-buying-mega-champagne/ for the joys of living with my 96-year-old Grandmother) than day-walking through that malarkey of cubicle misery again.
So, THANK YOU, MOM! And to all the parents out there: When your child comes to you and says they want to be an actress/play for the NFL/or become a rock star, etc., tell them to GO FOR IT. Why? As my mother always said: “‘Tis better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all”…because if you don’t, you never know, you might deprive your kid of their Oscar or a Superbowl ring, and, yes, I plan to make this my acceptance speech at the Oscars, should I EVER win such an auspicious title.
And if I never sell a screenplay, at least I won’t look back on my death bed wishing I’d given it a go…
Love and chocolate chip cookies…
TenaciousBITCH and her band of truth-spouting hippies…
~TB
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