The highest reward for a person's toil is not what they get for it, but what they become by it.
--John Ruskin
One is the Loneliest Number...Or is it?
Part One
Over last summer vacation, I read a novel called The Nanny Diaries. It is a wonderful book in its own right, but I confess to picking it up for more than just good reviews. Of course I was aware of the buzz surrounding it—it was at the top of the charts for several months and the audio version had Julia Roberts’s name attached. These were not, however, the captivating factors that motivated me to read it. I was intrigued by the fact that it had not one, but two authors attached to its title. And while this is not that unusual in its own right, it is rare for me to be interested in a work of fiction with two pictures on the back book flap. I often wonder how collaborative authors work together and how they are satisfied with the final result. The hours spent together, the strain of adjusting to someone else’s suggestions, the frustration of not being able to hold the pen or punch the computer keys, the conflict between ideas—it’s too much for me to bear. Or perhaps I only feel this way because of my own collaborative disaster. My first—and last.
My career as a writer began at the time I could first hold a pencil between my young clumsy fingers, but I was slightly older when I was first approached to be part of a team. I was a full-time fifth grader, part-time writer/ dreamer spending my nights in reveries of fame, success and inevitable headlines that were sure to read Fifth-grade protégé or First New York Times Best-Selling Author Under 12, etc. etc. My days were spent dreaming up the page-turners that were actually going to make me renowned. This was a pivotal time in my life as a writer. Everything was starting to bloom, from nature to my career. Outside, the snow was long gone, but the days were just starting to warm up. Little green buds were starting to bloom on the trees and the grass was finally losing its dead brown quality of the winter and sprouting fresh green blades that beckoned to be run and played and rolled around on. The air was fresh and left the tingling sensation of feeling alive. And inside, this was it—this was the moment. Others were seeking out my ability, my expertise. They sought my candid clear voice that cut through the dark obscurity of the humanity bringing hope and offering inspiration. They sought me. This could only mean one thing. I had made it.
To be continued...
