Are We There Yet? by Liz Flaherty

I'm on vacation, a few days with a different view out the window trying to get moving on a the book that seems completely unwilling to be written. This is from 2015, but I still feel the same. It's still about the journey. Have a great trip.

 Do you have days you look forward to...more than others, I mean?

          My husband, the roommate, sits in wait from the day after Christmas until February 1st. Because then the longest, darkest month with the shortest, coldest days is over. Theoretically. According to his theory, that is. Because I know, of course, that Punxsutawney Phil is going to stick his head out the next day and haul it back inside rather than freeze to death in the darkness of his shadow.

          When I was a kid, I looked forward to Valentine’s Day because everybody in the class gave nearly everyone else a valentine. And we got candy. Then I looked forward to Easter because there was often a new dress in it for me, not to mention we wore new white shoes to church instead of the black patent ones that hadn’t survived the ravages of winter all that well. We had ham for Sunday dinner, the grandparents came to visit. And we got candy.

          There were other days of excitement. I loved the 4th of July, complete with fireworks. The first day of school was a biggie all the way from the first year to the last. Thanksgiving and Christmas were my favorites.

          I’m not sure when it all changed. When I stopped saying, “Oh, I can’t wait...” about times, events, things. When my emotional February 1st became unimportant because all the days before it were so much fun and so full of life going on.

          At some point—somewhere between my first book in 1998 and my 10th sometime this year or next—it all became about the journey. I still love holidays, but the getting ready for them is more exciting than the actual days. I love having a new book, but the anticipation is more fun to me than Release Day, when my stomach hurts and I’m afraid no one will read it.

          So, as the roommate makes cross-offs on his mental calendar, I just look out the window at the snow. I think about spring, but winter works for me while we get there. I think about my next book and wonder when its release date will be, but in the end it’s the writing, the revising, the anticipating what the cover will look like that make it so much fun. It’s the journey.