Becca Wilhite » Blog

On my run jog I decided to do The Hills. It’s so not pretty to see me jogging up it, but it is a lovely part of these mountaintops. It’s up, then flat, then up, then flattish, then up and up and up, then a bunch of blessed down. And do you want to know the coolest part?

I control the sunrise.

No, I do.

As long as I get out of the house before the sun comes completely up over the east mountain, I can keep it from rising. In fact, I can re-set it (during certain pieces of the route) so it goes back behind the mountain and doesn’t get in my eyes. I know. Striking amounts of power, no? The price? Jogging up The Hill. Sore everything. Gasping. Sniffing. Sweating. The reward? Dominion over the sun. Is it worth it, I ask you? Well, duh. Of course it is.

Sometimes I get that heady feeling of Total Control when I write. I can reset the sun if I so choose. (That’s called editing, friends.) I can resurrect the dead (revision) and heal the sick (delete key) and create friction or harmony. But there is a price. Sitting at the keyboard. Typing out the words. Sore shoulders. Gasping. Sniffling. Sweating. Well, only sometimes. But the reward? Creation.

Creation.

Is it worth it?

Do you have to ask?

Yesterday, Husband and I took Kids 3 and 4 to a movie – one they have been SO EXCITED about for over a year. See, we have this preview channel on our computer, so we regularly watch previews months in advance of a film’s opening. This movie, which I’d rather not name, had such a funny premise. And so many talented people involved. And the preview is really hilarious.

And the film was completely disappointing.

Maybe that’s not fair. We did laugh a few times. But the potential was HUGE, and the payoff? Way minor.

So naturally, I’m applying this to books. You know that thing, where you pick up a book and read the back, and maybe a few of the blurbs inside, and you think, hey, with a cover like this and a premise like that and sunshine-y reviews like these, this is a book I’m going to Lurve? And then you get inside it and it’s, well, hack?

Yes? You know?

This is a large fear of mine.

Maybe other writers share this fear. This concern that we’ve made something with such great sound-bytes and beautiful packaging and the world’s best premise and hey, what’s not to love? But then it turns out to be… meh?*

Now maybe other people saw this film and lurved it like I wanted to. Maybe there are people who are, how do I say this nicely, less discerning. Like Kids 3 and 4, who said a dozen times as we left the theater, “That was awesome. Thank you for taking us to see it!” But these are the same children who can watch any of a number of television shows and call them awesome, too. I’m just saying. Entertainment for them is… easy. Am I a snob? Possibly. Do I require much? Perhaps. Will I withhold “awesome” until I feel it’s deserved? Probably.

And I know that what I write is not fine art. It is not “high” anything. But I hope it’s consistent. I hope that you get what you expect, plus a little more, when you finish the experience. I work to satisfy the premise. I fill a niche, and I hope (and work) to fill it in a way that leaves you smiling, not going, “wha…?”

Like that.

* A writer’s prayer: Oh, let me not be… meh.

You know that thing, where you have an event to look forward to, and you arrange stuff, and you (oh, let’s just say it) get someone to do your parenting for you, and you take some time to just do something you WANT to do?

And then it turns out that it was so totally worth it, and awesome, and a blessing in your day?

Yeah. That.

Thanks for coming all the way out here so we could have lunch, Melanie J. You’re a darling.

Good conversation. Laughs. Book talk. Mama talk. Tomato soup (I’m just saying). Getting it. Being real, and being fabulous. Isn’t that what it’s all about on those rare girlfriend days?

(*Sigh*)

Good times.

And reunion was lovely. As a whole. A success in the following ways:

The kids who vomited were neither mine, nor in my room.

My children love their cousins, all zillions of them.

I have great sibs.

Want to hear some funnies? Well, here are just a couple:

“Just because I’m looking at you, doesn’t mean I’m having bad thoughts.”

18-year-old cutest nephew ever sent a text to Grandpa the morning reunion was beginning. “Some Aunts got into the food. We need six more muffins and a dozen more bagels.” (None of those Aunts was me. Also, none were Aunts, as far as we know. Only Ants. But much funnier the way he sent it.)

“That’s my Aunt Becca. She’s my best friend.” (Bribery, anyone?)

“I love our family.”

“Sometimes I feel I’ve got to (bum-bum) run away, I’ve got to (bum-bum) get away.”

“This toilet experiences Poor Flushing.” (Which led to the teen girls’ rap, including the words, “The flushing is poor, don’t go through that door…”)

“I’m a finger licker and a double dipper.”

“Uncle K. is awesome.” (which, although it isn’t all that funny, is certainly true. And sweet. And awesome.)

So, all together a good experience. The next one is already in planning stages (but don’t tell Husband. He’d have a coronary. We’ll let this sink into a fuzzy memory before we bring up the future plans…).