The Secret #heart #mind

Tee gave me a magazine on Christmas Eve this year.

It is awesome.

I had tucked a wrapped present under her pillow for her to discover on Christmas Eve; this is a family tradition we’ve been introducing gradually ever since we read about the Icelandic tradition of giving books as presents on the night before Christmas and then spending the rest of Christmas Eve reading.  That year, Tee gave me The Book Thief as a Christmas Eve gift, a title that had the double bonus of being a wonderful book AND being a book I’d never heard of before.

I, meanwhile, had forgotten all about the article we’d read on the Icelandic Book Flood, and had NOT gotten Tee a book.  (Real nice, KEM.)

This year, I rememered and put a copy of A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman under Tee’s pillow.

This time, Tee forgot.

But then she smiled and ran to my stocking, and pulled out a wrapped present that I knew was either a kaleidoscope or a magazine.

It was this magazine:

Writer's Yearbook presents - Winter 2017

And I happily paged through it all evening and all day on Christmas.

This present was really special for me, but I’m a little too self-conscious to write a lot about why it’s significant.  tell-me-what-is-it-you-plan-to-do-with-your-one-wild-and-precious-life

I will share that this gift’s importance is related to the introspection I’ve been experiencing ever since Teddy came home.  And my thoughts about what I want to do with my life – my wild and precious life.

I’ve been referencing these thoughts in conversations with Tee as my secret – the secret.  A wish that I am scared to say aloud for fear that it won’t come true.

So anyway – I spent a good portion of my birthday coffee shop outing looking at writing contests and literary magazine submission guidelines.

And hoping.

And dreaming.

And, of course, writing.  (Because you can’t just enter a writing contest.  You have to have a story written first.  #protips)

I can’t write my exact goal here – for fear I won’t meet it, I don’t want it to be typed out on virtual paper.

But I will share this quote I discovered (yet again by Mary Oliver):

And I will acknowledge that writing has been my dream for a long, long time.

And I really, really don’t want my dream to be buried with me when I die.  That would seem silly, and not at all fun.

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