Laughing At My Baby
May 17, 2009
Dolly Parton once described her songs as her children. She loved them, but once they were out in the world, all she could do is wish them the best. I try to take that attitude each time I put a piece of writing into the world – “Good Luck!” and then release them to move onto the next project.
Mostly, for a writer of my fame, or to be more accurate – lack thereof, this is usually done in private. I write a few poems, send them off to a poetry magazine and move on. When I receive a letter explaining the fit wasn’t quite right, I console myself and try to find a better fit for my babies. Sometimes that fit is in the safety of my private papers, where I can love and protect them and not have to worry about anyone criticizing or disliking them.
But recently I published a book, a book that is supposed to be funny. When people ask me about it, that is exactly how I describe it – “It’s supposed to be funny” – as I shrug my shoulders and give them a goofy grin, hoping to make people laugh before they’ve even seen the book – a pre-emptive strike of sorts.
Suddenly my baby is not the quiet kid in the back row who does all his work, but is the lead in the school play. My heart is excited by the possibilities of success, but scared to death of failure. Still during the play, you can focus on the acting and tune out everyone around you.
Likewise with your book, usually you hand it to someone and she leaves to read it in private. Relatively safe, because if they don’t like it, they can think about how to tell me my baby is ugly. “It was sweet.” “It was light hearted.” “I’m proud of your effort.”
Yes, I see right through these comments, but appreciate them still, because at least the person was kind enough to think of a nice way to break the news. “I’m sure your child will grow into that big head.”
But today, I took a book to my salon and while I was having my nails done, a woman waiting picked up the book and began reading it. I pretended to be watching the television and concentrating on what a great job my manicurist was doing on my nails, and never even looked her way.
Until she laughed. Then I did what every part of me had wanted to do the entire time she was reading it, I looked over.
“This is funny.”
“What part?”
“The piggy bank.”
Pride welled up in me. Not only was my baby the lead in the play, but people – not all people mind you – thought he was good.
Actually, a few minutes later, she laughed again. And then again. Hooray!
So today, someone laughed at my baby, but it was good.
This week I will continue to send my creative endeavors into the world, hoping the best for each of them.