Yesterday and The Question I Hate Most As A Writer

So…yesterday was supposed to be a day off with my hubby. We had some things to to take care of, but mostly we just wanted a few hours alone to hang out together. When you have four kids, that time is rare and extremely precious. But…things went awry somehow.

First, we went to do a little shopping. As we exited the FIRST store, we walk into the parking lot and find another car backed in to ours with the driver standing there helpless, having no clue what to do. My husband even had to move her car because she “didn’t know how.” I thought…Hmmm…if you can’t put a car in drive and press the gas, how in the world do you have a driver’s license?

Anyway..thankfully, the hub’s truck had no damage, but her bumper was a mess. After waiting forever for the police to arrive and after spending nearly an hour explaining to the other driver what she needed to do in regards to insurance..we were free to go about our day.

Unfortunately, the hubs had a doctor’s appointment scheduled at 11 and I had a hair appointment at 12:30 so, our few hours alone were shot and we had to go our separate ways.

After a little pouting, I shrugged it off and decided to look forward to having my hair done.

My appointment was at a new salon, and I had no idea what to expect.

What did I find? A salon full of Book Lovers. My day improved drastically.

But then…I made the comment that I am a writer.

I’m not really sure where it came from. It’s taken me a good, long while to own that title. Saying you are a writer is a tough thing at first but yesterday, I was in the midst of Book Lovers, kindred souls, so it rolled off my tongue with ease.

Then came the Question I Hate Most As A Writer: “What is your book about?”

It’s such a little, harmless question. The last effect it should have on a person is temporary paralysis of the tongue and vocal chords, but I swear that’s the effect it has on me every single time it is uttered.

It makes me wish the floor would open up and swallow me.

I know that sounds drastic, but for whatever reason, I still…after all this time…cannot give a summary of what I’m writing.

Part of the problem is fear, I know that for a fact.

I always worry that people are going to look at me like I’m crazy if they don’t know the details. I worry they Just. Won’t. Get. It.

And it’s my baby…I want it to be as loved and accepted and understood and valued by everyone else as it is by me and I fear I can’t do it justice with a few, simple words.

The other problem is that I honestly haven’t worked on a proper response.

NEVER have I sat down with the dedicated purpose of answering that mortifying, body numbing, brain freezing question, a task that is now at the top of my list of things to do.

So…I looked at the stylist and told her the truth. “I hate that question because I honestly freak out when I think about answering it. I haven’t figured out a way to sum it up yet.”

Her response? “I totally understand. My mom is a writer. She writes children’s books and even wrote a novel and tried to get it published.”

A thousand pounds lifted from my shoulders in that moment. time I doubt I’ll be as lucky and I MUST be able to give an amazing, short description of this novel if I’m ever going to query an agent, so as I said, I am about to wrestle this thing to the ground.

What about you? Do/did you have this problem? How did you come up your own answer?

Some music for you…Rolling In The Deep by Adele…(I highly recommend a listen..)

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