A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

 

When I was six I lugged my mom’s huge Woodstock typewriter over to the dining room table. I got a pile of paper and neatly set it next to the typewriter. Then, I sat down, looked out the huge picture window to my left to the yard beyond for inspiration, and then began typing.

I wrote and wrote. The story was some horrible mess about cats and some girl named Cindy. But on I clattered.

I had the idea that I wanted to be a writer.

I wrote stories, poems, even play scripts that my sister and I would act out in our basement. Our plays even included commercial breaks, because we know where the money is coming from. We were savvy. Ask us one day about the commercial we made for Pepto Bismol. It included special effects and a soundtrack, and I have to say it was brilliant.

I wrote for my high school’s newspaper. I lived for Fridays when the Harbinger would come out, and all would read my column (I had my own column! This was the big time.)

I wrote and wrote and wrote  in journals and journals. It was in these Lisa Frank spiral bound beauties that I learned to hone my skills and banish things like repetitive word choice, and overuse of sweeping adjectives and cliches. They were all so very beautifully written, like wonderful and beautiful flowers of beautiful writing detailing my life’s most wonderful moments like sands in the hourglass or the winds of time or oh God please make it stop.

And then… I started teaching. And teaching is simply divine.  I had a knack for it. It filled me up and some days drove me kinda crazy (the lawyer would add it’s not a long drive) and fed me and kept me sane and made me even crazier. And for some umpteen years it was all I really had time for.

And then… well, I started having children. And then I didn’t even have time for teaching, ya’ll. Or for children. I had no time. Time just up and flounced off in a huff with me on that one.

But this of course is when I decided to start a writing career. Because:

1.  I’m a little bit nutball.  We don’t need to debate this. My entire family can phone in a long lecture, with numerous subpoints and illustrations provided in the appendix, to elaborate if needed. But I’m pretty sure ya’ll have already figured there’s a decided nutball factor here.

2. I have a daily dose of material from Thing One and Thing Two that if I don’t record somewhere there will be some sort of crack in the universe and God will smite me. He gave me this talent, so if I don’t capitalize on it now, to the major future embarrassment of my children, I KNOW we will have a discussion when I kick it one day that will go like this:

“Hi God! I am so happy to be here! I mean, I’m dead and all, but there’s no place I’d rather be for all eternity!”

“Pleasure is all mine. But remember that time that I prodded at you and said something like ‘Lo, go forth and write about your childreneth, and you shall blesseth the momsies all about?’ You didn’t do that. What’s up with that?”

“Oh snap, God. I am sorry. I just got so caught up in cleaning and folding laundry and somewhere along the way I forgot how to do anything creative except make homemade napkins out of old t-shirts.”

“Really. REALLY?”

“Please don’t smite me. I mean, I’m already here. I think you have a no return policy, right? And…I’ll write Your tell-all if You’d like.”

“We have that already. Revelations, remember? It’s in the bible…”

“Well, surely someone could benefit from a humorous interpretation of it, right? I mean… I hate to break it to You, but nobody completely GETS the book of Revelation.”

          “THAT’S THE POINT. JOB 36:26. Or did you not read that book, either?”

 

3. There’s that whole recovery thing. It’s kind of important that I write about that. You know why.

 

I am pleased, no, thrilled, NO, just plain gobsmacked to tell you this:

I signed a contract today for a book deal.

I signed a contract today for a book deal!

A book.

By ME.

 

Central Recovery Press, a publishing company that focuses on recovery and behavioral health,  searched me out after my Substance.com article ran at Huff Post… And the acquisitions editor, a charming woman named Eliza, then asked me a rather weird question:  “Would you want to write a book about moms in recovery. But, make it funny?”

Hmmm.  Alcoholism and humor. A rather strange mix, in a way. But then,  if I can end up in the same boat as Russel Brand, then yes, anything is possible. Humor it is!!

article-2541112-1AB5B49C00000578-890_634x833

He’s weird, famous, very funny, and in the same special club as me. And, evidently, he really loves his dog. KINDRED SPIRIT, YA’LL.

CRP requested a book proposal, which I did. The proposal alone was a ton of work. I slaved over it.

And then, they accepted it.

And then, I did this:

happy-dance-

 

For reals, ya’ll.
I am writing a book.

 

Bottled: How to Survive Early Recovery With Kids

Or:

It is Possible to Have Children and Not Drink Yourself Under the Crib

by:  Dana Bowman (squeeeeeee!!!!!!!)

 

Coming out in September!!!!!!!!!!  (and I do realize, my students, that I am overusing the ! here and breaking my own rule of NO YELLING in writing unless someone is getting chased by a bear, but heck, THIS IS TOO AWESOME!!!!!!!!!)

 

AND: I am so grateful to all of you, my readers, who made this happen. YOU are the reason I am living my dream, because without Momsie, none of this would have happened.

 

And thank you, Christy for your edits and your friendship.  You are my best cheerleader ever.

 

A dream is a wish your heart makes. Keep believing. Psalm 37:4.

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14 thoughts on “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

  1. CONGRATULATIONS!!! (YES, I’M YELLING TOO!!! SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS, ACTUALLY!!!) SO VERY PROUD OF YOU, DANA!!! XOXOX MMMMMUUUAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

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