I love my book.
I better.
I'm its mother.
No one, not even my sweet hubby who's been so supportive of my journey, is as deeply invested in it and my characters as I am. Friends and family try to be good sports about it. There's a lot of eye rolling, but I'm used to it. I went through that with them about Harry Potter, too.
They love me me anyway.
With this R&R, I'm on the 13th edit/rewrite. I've spent so many hours in my characters' company that I know them really well. Better than some of my dearest friends--because real people don't spill all their guts.
My life changed when I had my first child, a son. Until that moment, I'd never truly realized the depth of human love. Of a mother's love. It worried me as I prepared for the birth of my second child if the love I felt for my son would be diminished, divided, with the new addition. Or if I might not be able to love the new baby as much.
Stupid woman.
The love for my son didn't lessen with the coming of my daughter, and the love I felt for my beautiful daughter was no less than what I felt for my son. I discovered an important lesson.
Love defies mathematics.
I'd been operating on the assumption that my capacity to love was a finite thing.
Wrong!
With the addition of each child, I found that my capacity to love increased. It grew so I not only had a greater ability to love all these wonderful little people I had the privilege of mothering, but that I had more love for everyone else as well.
So how does this relate to my book? My other baby?
It means it's okay to fall in love with new projects, new characters, new worlds.
*sigh*
I love being a writer.
Have a wonderful weekend. Summer is almost here.
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Life is good.
