Other fiction I write has found a home on The Community Storyboard, and my trials and conquests with Paleo have found—wait, no that’s a spoiler – and D has his own outlet here when he takes the blog for a day to tell his tale. I decided that Sundays, instead of being a weekly update from me, are going to be a day for A – otherwise known as Katie. I may be a heathen, but it seems fitting.
I read a letter from my 13-year-old self today. I was supposed to read it 10 years ago, but misplaced it or, more likely, just avoided it. I was afraid it would be maudlin. Who isn’t maudlin at 13?
In it, I was concerned – and rightly so – with the status of my love life. I didn’t have the heart to tell 13 year-old me that we were 10-years divorced, and just settling into singledom after a lengthy relationship that had ceased to serve its purpose. Poor kid; she wanted more than that.
She asked after our daughters. It never occurred to us at that age that we would have a boy. Wow, and what a boy he is. Conan O’Brien and David Tennant met in a dark alley and TC burst into being.
Despite having written her first novel (that I also found… oh, dear!), 13-year-old me wanted to be an actress. She had no talent, so I’m really glad that wasn’t pursued, but I do see where TC gets some of his flair. Luckily, in TC, it has also found a more gifted outlet!
For all her questions and grand visions of the future, 13-year-old me demanded to know if I still believed in my dreams. What she wanted for us was hope. I wasn’t maudlin at 13. I was perhaps a little overly concerned with fame and power, but I wasn’t maudlin.
It’s no wonder D and I don’t have an easy working relationship. I have hopes and dreams, and they are, for the most part, lighthearted. D is not exactly maudlin, but he is a little like the ocean. He is deep, at times unfathomable and cold, furious in his passions and dangerous, too. I am the stone that skims the top of the waves, and he would like to swallow that stone and turn it into sand.
For all that I have been alone, these last two weeks have been the most emotionally intense that I have endured while writing. Part 3 was all about D and the world he’s trying to protect Sean and Maureen from – a world they belong to just as much as he does. In telling the much-abbreviated version of his story, D made me cry. I wept with sorrow for him and all that he’s lost. I raged at him for being so damned ornery. He also gave me shivers and a glimpse at a world I have yet to fully understand. And, at the end of it all, I had hope.
So 13-year old me, thank you. You did well and I’m going to make you proud.
Ever write a letter to yourself? Did you actually read it?