January turns into February and I walk around with a pit in my stomach. I just have to finish writing Marvin’s book. I just have to.
No matter how cute my shoes or how great or bad a hair day I have, I think all the time about my one huge invisible failure. I have to finish the book by April, if I can.
It’s the second week of February. I am in my office, editing and compiling the chapters of bloopers for Marvin’s Book, alternately clicking between my large document and Facebook.
As a writer, I love Facebook because I get instantaneous high-fives, giggles or general camaraderie from my invisible friends.
I update my status to “Love is patient, love is kind. Love takes out the trash and puts the laundry away. All the way away, not just in piles. And love fills your tank and washes your car, happily.”
I click back into my document, feeling suddenly heavy and sluggish, like fat sheets of honey blocked my view of whatever story I was somehow trying to tell. I looked at my praying yoga frog, the one who queens over the shiny rainbow of lucky stones that grow in my office, and imitated her.
Mentally, at least.
Three exhales later, there was a notification for me on Face-book from Monica Scott, Marvin’s sister.
I hadn’t seen her in years, but we kept in touch through email and Facebook. She “liked” my quote.
I messaged her, told her what a coincidence it was that she popped up while I was finally making headway on Marvin’s book.
She told me she was glad I was doing well. Then she told me how important it was to her parents that all their kids had college degrees—all of them but Marvin—and she asked me if I could find out about getting Marvin’s degree for the family.
I told her I would be honored to; I didn’t know how I’d do it, but I’d try. I couldn’t imagine TCC saying no.
For about three days I think about how to go about getting Marvin his degree. Also, I laugh a lot and thank the good universe for sending me a happy ending to Marvin’s book, because I only write stories with happy endings.