Life imitating art…
Today’s journal entry was delayed by a sneeze 🤧
The weekend was a journey into website land, creating a home to place my newfound friends and the books wherein they live. House of Mystique is beginning to feel like a real place now — not just a concept, but a little doorway into the worlds I am creating.
Monday brought a milestone.
I received the proof book from Amazon KDP and made a slight tweak to the first and last pages. Then, as often happens, one random little idea floated into my mind — a remembering activity. Suddenly the book lifted itself from being just a cute read into something a little more interactive.
Perhaps, also, a little annoying.
As the mother of my granddaughter pointed out, this could very well be discovered at bedtime, after a long day, by a tired mother who was hoping for a peaceful winding down rather than a child suddenly wanting to search, point, remember and participate.
Too bad.
It’s in there now.
And perhaps it can even be used as a bargaining chip:
“Tidy up your toy box first, and then we’ll do the remembering page.”
Today was enjoyable in a different way. I finally got The One About the Shrinking Sneeze off my chest — quite literally, it seems, as life began imitating art. I’ve been suffering with a head cold, devouring a box of tissues by my bedside, sneezing and sniffling my way through the day while writing a story about a sneeze.
You couldn’t make it up.
I wrangled with the story and managed to master 700 words, introducing Li’l Ange and a series of unfortunate events, all leading to that happy place in Ruby’s kitchen for a cup of chamomile tea.
That alone makes me smile.
What a lovely destination — after all the shrinking, sneezing, chaos and drama, the comfort of Ruby’s kitchen and a healing cup of tea.
I now have a day or so to wait before my new character PNGs arrive in my inbox. By the end of this week, I fully expect The One About the Shrinking Sneeze to be illustrated and ready to crash-test on a few guinea pigs for reading.
And that thought excites me.
I am having fun again.
A little subdued, perhaps, because of the head cold, but fun nonetheless.
The last few weeks of birthing the first book already seem like a distant memory. Not erased — just softened, as though they belonged to another chapter. I can feel myself moving forward now, with more confidence, more speed, and a little more trust in my own instincts.
And I find myself wondering:
What will the first sale feel like?
A tiny thrill?
A sacred milestone?
A quiet little tear in the corner of my eye?
Whatever it feels like, I know this much.
It will mean that something I imagined, wrote, wrestled with, and brought into being has found its way into someone else’s hands.
And that will be a beautiful beginning.
