Does That Straight Jacket Come in Black?

I think I officially lost my mind today. I've heard tell that some writers have waited for their parents' deaths before trying to publish--to avoid the mess of hurt feelings (however unfounded), guilt, and disownment. Me? I've decided to let my mom read my manuscript as it circulates literary agencies.

Originally, I vowed that she wouldn't read my manuscript until I held a contract in my hand, signed in blood, no turning back. Through the months, I've heard her sighs, and I pretended not to hear her as she groaned about my beta-readers seeing my work before her and, though I've glossed over it, I've even heard her when she's said (after a dramatic sigh), "I guess I have to wait until I can buy it to be able to read it." I held my resolve. It's not that anything in my book is about her. It's not. But there's a fear that she'll insert herself as the villain...and this kept me from writing for years. (Actually, in this one, just about every one of the characters have a part of me in them, including the the ugly parts, the parts I worry about developing in myself.)

When I began writing Degrees of Broken, I decided to guard it from being killed by laziness, boredom, or censorship in whatever form may meet me (ie: that old guilt and fear), and I was determined to finish it--I did that by telling every one I knew that I was in the midst of it, so there could be no putzing out: it worked. As I neared completion (and revision x infinity), I realized I actually had something, and I grew even more determined to keep it safe from any possibility of slipping into old patterns that would freeze me into keeping it to myself; I'd spent too many months in the world of these characters and gotten to know them so well that I could hear them in my head (remember, as a writer and artist, one reserves the right to claim the voices as normal ;) ).

Now, here I am, vow broken, on the verge of hitting "print." And I'm not sure why...am I reverting back to only-child tendencies, seeking her approval, or is it a much more selfish thing--the possibility of not getting published for awhile and therefore seeking praise where I can safely get it? (Of course, maybe there's no real psychological twist to it--maybe I'm just proud of it and want to share it.) What I know for certain is that she won't identify with it--I gauged her reaction to teenage love with New Moon (potato chip stuff, to be sure--yes, I'm a hater)--she doesn't get it. She talked to the TV and mocked the intensity. Here's what I know that she seems to have forgotten, though: while it may not be the norm, soulmate teen love CAN happen. Truly. I met my husband when we were 16. We started dating when I was 19 and he was 20, and we got married when I was 20 and he was 21. I certainly don't advocate young marriage as what to do; statistically, my husband and I should have been divorce casualties long ago, but we're going on 16 years of marriage this October. Some can work. My theory is that no matter what (I hope I remember this when my daughter starts dating), the future can't be concretely told, and it seems unfair to me that even participants of teenage love shouldn't be allowed the chance to find out for themselves what the future holds; love shouldn't be done guardedly--that's a short change (I'm not talking about sex here).

So, my mind has been lost, but my characters have taught me something: I won't stop or silence myself, and I will allow myself the chance to find out what my future holds, without paralyzing myself by worry about what anyone else will think or if they will approve. Now hit "print."