The Writer's Life

As I wrap up work on my middle-grade novel for Milton Hershey School on this holiday weekend, I have had a chance to reflect on the life of a writer.

It's quite simple, really.

Not being a writer. Not writing. Not bring words to the page. All of that is hard. Very hard.

It's simple to be a child again. Or, in this case a teen.

My novel takes place in 1977-78. I was a senior in high school during that school year. This novel has been a walk down Memory Lane. Elvis dies. Star Wars is born. Disco takes the dance scene by storm. There's an energy crisis. Gas prices go up. The president is at odds with Congress. Women want equal rights. People march to be noticed. A new roller coaster twists and turns in Hershey, the setting for the novel.

So, maybe this is my story that I'm writing. Maybe the 8th grade boy in my novel is experiencing some of what I experienced and some of what I felt.

The novel is due on Monday. It's part of Milton Hershey School's centennial celebration. I best get back to work to dot the i's and cross the t's and give John Travolta space to dance across the screen. (Saturday Night Fever took the country by storm.)