A couple weeks ago we were besieged by a toddler. My husband’s niece, to be exact. We had his sister over for lunch one Sunday afternoon, which meant the SO and the munchkin were part of the package. Family obligations being what they are, you know. It was exhausting.
To be fair, the little one was cute as she could be, and her parents were very diligent about keeping her under control in our not-at-all-safe-for-children house. But me and the cat are cranky old farts used to our routine, and watching this tiny blonde super ball bounce around, zero to screaming to giggling in 1.3 seconds, all the while demonstrating her variable speed overdrive on short, wobbly legs that shouldn’t be able to move that fast, left us both feeling like the morning after a New Year’s Eve night before. And no confetti in sight.
I do not envy you, parents.
Somewhere there is a font of special elixir just for mothers and fathers to drink from, so they may survive their little darlings. Obviously I was never given directions. It was pretty clear from the beginning that I wasn’t going to have my own children, so that part of the programming was left out. No regrets, mind you. The beauty of being that crazy aunt the rest of the family warns everyone about is getting to do all the fun stuff, and then handing the little buggers back when you’re done twisting their little minds.
Yes, there really are monsters under your bed.
I saw them myself and beat them back with my cane.
I wouldn’t look under there if I were you…
That, and a treat of dark chocolate covered espresso beans given ten minutes before the parents rescue them from my dastardly clutches. Enjoy the drive home, Sis.
So as I’m lying in bed later that evening with a pounding headache and feeling like road kill, I had an epiphany: spending an afternoon with a toddler is a lot like writing a novel. Your best laid plans are usually derailed right at the beginning, the emotional outbursts range from volcanic to glacial and change so fast it’s like riding a roller coaster, cooperation is fleeting, and resistance is futile. By the end of it all, you’re a wreck and your creation is flying off on its own without a backward glance. You can only hope that it does well enough to allow you a room IN the old folk’s home, instead of under the bridge next door.
Of course, the scientist within had to test the hypothesis. I sat down at the keyboard the next day and began my observations:
“Okay, guys. We gotta get on this next scene.”
*crickets*
“No, really. The goal is 500 words a day. That shouldn’t be so hard.”
*frog croaks*
“Stop kidding around. How are we handling this transition?”
*fart*giggle*snort*
*face*palm*
“This sounds like a good place for exposition explaining the transcendental nature of human relationships.”
“Finally. That’ll work with you lead characters.”
“We want a pony.”
“There are no ponies in this thing.”
“We want a pony!”
“How ‘bout a space ship?”
“WE WANT A PONY!!!”
“Okay, okay, I’ll see if I can figure out how to get a pony in this thing.”
“A chocolate pony.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake…”
*giggle*snort*
“If I promise to figure out the pony thing, can we actually move on to the fight scene?”
“What pony?”
*head*desk*
“He sat at the main table, uncomfortable to be included in the celebratory meal under full swing around him. With the exception of Dave, who had been moved to his own quarters that afternoon after his stay in Sickbay, the entirety of the crew enjoyed the repast set before them. Chef flitted back and forth between table and galley, occasionally alighting in the chair to one side of him. On the other side was their guest, herself just the slightest bit uneasy about her place of honor. He sensed that she didn’t understand why the humans felt so grateful to her. She had just done her job, a logical task in an otherwise illogical situation. At least she still had a sense of purpose.”
“Hey, I like that. Nice work.”
“There’s plenty more where that came from.”
“Cool. Sock it to me.”
“Nah. I’m gonna take a nap.”
And that’s why writing a novel is like having a toddler. Frustrating, joyous, mind-numbing, energizing and all the other little twists and turns of life that eventually lead us to a successful completion. But, hopefully, it won’t take me eighteen years to see my baby off into the world. I’ll let you know how we’re doing after our nap.
© 2014 Cheri K. Endsley All Rights Reserved.