With the release of Essence only days away I find it necessary to share a piece of humor long standing in my household. In the dedication of my book I refer to Denialville or rather being lost in Denialville. I suppose some people will interrupt this incorrectly and some will understand the hidden meaning behind the words.
I started writing Essence in the summer of 2009 and became completely engrossed with the story. Occasionally…okay, more often than I care to confess, I would get lost in the storyline and the world around me would disappear…completely. I would procrastinate dinner and dang near everything else to the point that, during those certain times, it was an every man for himself situation in my house. In my defense though, it was not like I was neglecting feeding small children and we were living in squalor…quite the opposite actually. My children were all teenagers and could very well fix themselves something to eat. As could my husband if someone showed him where the kitchen was located. And heaven forbid, they may have done a load or two of laundry or washed a dish or twelve…yeah, I broke the child labor laws with such cruel expectations of my kids. The point is…they all survived!
My husband, with the best of intentions, would do his damnest to get me outside amongst the living as he put it. He urged me to stretch my legs, get some fresh air and move around. So, most evenings, we would go on longs walks of three to six miles long. I have to admit, that no matter how begrudgingly I may have started out, those long walks were precisely what I needed. They gave me the opportunity to bounce ideas off my husband, discuss his day and talk about what was going on with the kids.
But as soon as we returned home I sat back down with my laptop and quickly returned to the world I created. It didn’t take long for my husband to remark to one of my kids; ‘your mom’s lost in Denialville’. It became the euphemism around our house for ‘mom’s writing’.
When I learned of this I thought it was both funny and accurate. Soon I started making little remarks to my husband that I had a hammock and margarita on the beach in Denialville. Throughout the summer, it grew from a campsite to an apartment, then a condo, a house and by the last pages of my manuscript my small spot in Denialville had grown into an estate.
So as bad as it may sound to say I was lost in Denialville, the remark was made in jest. Every family has their little quips and gestures that make them unique. We do as well. It is those little things, that only they understand, that makes the bonds stronger.