Once in awhile I get tempted to read just a bit of my book to Denny.
“No. You don’t want to do that. Seriously, you don’t want to do that. It will mess everything up. Just think. You’ve got fifteen more years to write that book. You can wait. It’s not Christmas yet. Christmas is when the book is done, that’s when you unwrap the book.”
“Just think,” Denny continues, “The harder it is for you to wait, the better it is. That’s what it’s all about. Waiting till Christmas. It’s a thermometer. If it’s really, really, hard, the peeing your pants kind of hard, then that means it’s really good.”
“Well that’s probably enough for one day,” I say about my writing. Denny is being funny again and I can’t concentrate.
“Oh, no, don’t stop now. The sooner you finish it the sooner you can read it to me.”
I’m laughing now because I just thought of something funny to write, and Denny says to me, “Tell you want. You don’t have to tell me. I’ll laugh anyway. Will that help you?” And he does.
“This is going to be one good book,” I exclaim.
“That’s what we want, one good book.” Denny has that silly, mischievous grin on his face.
“I just have to come up with daily inspiration.”
“Don’t take life too seriously and you’ll have endless amounts of material.”