I am thankful that I even get to write books at all. I mean, it really is an honor to be a part of the world of children's literature, to create stories and books for kids---it's just really the best.
But I do whine about it sometimes. I whine that I don't have enough time to write. I whine that what I am working on is "hard" and that revising it is "hard". I whine that I am too tired sometimes to put a word on the page after a day of teaching school then coming home and being a mom. I whine because my characters decide to do things other than what I'd planned for them, or worse, when my characters do nothing at all and I have to keep throwing things at them to get some kind of authentic action. Man, I do whine about that a lot.
I whine when I lack inspiration because it feels like the muse is giving me nothing--and then I whine when I am inspired, SO INSPIRED, because the muse has given me a ton but I don't know where to begin.
I whine because it takes me a long time to be satisfied with what I am creating and I wish I was faster. (I whine to myself about this almost daily.)
Whine, whine, whine.
But tonight, the evening before Thanksgiving, I will not whine that the pie crust is not made because my characters cannot decide how they are escaping from an secret library underneath Mont St. Michel. Nope. No whining (even though they are driving me crazy!!) I am remembering to be thankful. I am so fortunate that the stories from my heart are finding their way into the lives of children.
It's just really the best thing ever.