SOME SECRETS SHOULDN'T BE KEPT

"So, how long have you been writing books?  Why didn't I know about this?" she asked, holding one of my recently published books in her hand.  "Oh, about 30 years," I said.  She was surprised, even more surprised to learn that I have seven books in print.  She's known me since Kindergarten when she became my daughter's best friend, and they're still close, like sisters.  This woman spent so much time around my house that I've always thought of her as family, an adopted daugther.  She's known me in that way, and also as a teacher, coach, and supporter.  Now a high school teacher, she's raising two adopted daughters . . . little girls her younger sister gave up due to drug addiction.  She grew up on a small ranch, has been pretty much a cowgirl her entire life . . . and now she's finding out that I write stories about contemporary cowboys.  Some of my stories are about cowgirls too, and she took one of the books home with her last night. 

I've never talked much about my work as a writer.  I had other fish to fry back when I started trying to be an author, kept my little secret about the stories until just recently.  And then I suddenly realized that I'm old, time is short, and if I ever wanted to see my stories in print, now's the time.  The good thing about my long kept secret is that I built up a supply of manuscripts.  The books I put in print first were stories I'd written some time back.  Getting them in shape for publication took some rewrites, corrections, editing, and proof reading, a slow process.  But now they're out there, and I'm starting to get some feedback.  That encourages me to do more, and I'm looking forward to a busy 2014. 

I'm learning something about being a published author that I didn't expect.  What you put in print brings you back together with people you haven't seen in a while, and it brings you closer to people you spend a lot of time with.  I got a call yesterday from a friend who lives on a farm some fifteen miles from here.  He's a disabled Vietnam vet, and he seldom reads.  His wife bought one of my books as a Christmas present for him, and he called to say how much he's been enjoying it.  "I have a hard time reading 'cause I don't understand a lot of what I read, have to go over it several times, and don't like doing that.  But I understand what you write."  I didn't explain to him that I know why that is.  He knows me.  We've had lots of conversations, so he knows how I talk.  And since he knows me, he's interested in reading what I write.  Reading comprehension often hinges on the interest you have in what you read . . . and he's learning that.  And I'm pleased.  Maybe in our previous conversations I should've mentioned that I'm a writer.

. . . And maybe some secrets shouldn't be kept.  A cat is always happier once it's out of the bag.