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"So, I think I'm going to write a book."
Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Oooh...fiction? That great American novel you've been working on since college? The wonderful, strong protagonist, pitted against that wily antagonist. Great plot and character development. Climax. Denouement. Inky gold, right?
Wrong. Who do I look like, Louisa May Alcott?
I'm writing the other kind. The kind that will probably never get published (assuming I even finish it) and will rot on some publisher's desk until she stops using it as a coaster.
Ok, so I'm not really that negative. Otherwise, why bother?
I'm writing a book about me. And my crazy kids. And my crazy life with my kids. They say write what you know, and that's what I know best.
I've been told I'm the "Erma Bombeck of my generation." I translate that as "Your family is completely ridiculous, and you don't mind telling everyone about it." Let's just hope I don't totally embarrass myself...