The Best Thing About Being a Writer

Drawing with E June 2009

There is a moment in the life of a writer where all the hard work, studying and practice finally pays off. That moment where you cross the threshold from being a wannabe writer to a real writer—meaning that somebody found your work good enough to publish and (ideally) pay for. There is something magical in seeing your dream realized in the physical form. I’ve been lucky enough to see both a book of my comics published and to have my dream job of writing for a newspaper. But this weekend, I had an experience which eclipsed them all.

You see, I wrote a story for my three year old son, E.

I can’t yet say what the story is about, other than to say there’s lots of tickling involved in the reading of it.

The story takes up just two pages of my spiral notepad and has a few illustrations scrawled along the side, but when I read it to him, his eyes lit up in a magical (to use the word again) way that reminds me of everything childhood is about. The excitement, the imagination, the fun of it all. And is the exact reason I always wanted to be a writer—to make someone feel that magic.

The story was such a hit that he asked me to read it four times in a row. Of course, I’m sure that the tickling might have had something to do with his requests, as he loves to be tickled. But I can tell that the words also connected with him.

The next day, I was surprised to find him looking under the couch, where he had last seen me stuff the notebook. He wanted me to read him the story again. And then—and here’s the exact moment that my heart gushed—he asked to read the story to his mommy and daddy.

While he can’t yet read, he went over the two pages, recalling the story as best he remembered and then tickled us at the appropriate moments.

I still have a lot of yet unrealized writing goals—my first published novel, the sale of my first TV and movie scripts, to name a few—but I don’t think any moment will ever rival this weekend.

I’m working on the illustrations for a proper copy of the book, which I can’t wait to put in his little hands. We had lain down on the floor the other night with a stack of paper and a pile of crayons doodling the story’s characters. He loves them. I love making them. I love him.

Question: If you’re a writer, has there been one magical moment which defines it for you?

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