A Word Paints a Thousand Pictures

I can no sooner abandon my beloved blog than put my teenager up for sale. (Honestly, who the heck would purchase a teenager, so what's the point?) It will come as no surprise -- at least to those who know me well -- that, though I truly mourned the death of Nora Ephron, the fledgling opportunist in me secretly viewed her departure as a job opening. I have spent days fantasizing about vying for a chance to fill her enormous shoes, maybe even just a small section in the toe box. I have even drafted a cover letter; to whom, I could not say.

As a mom and, on occasion, a trusted teacher and mentor, I have advised many youngsters to never shy away from stiff competition, to never let a fear of failure stop them from pursuing their dreams. I have spent years doing all that I advise against, and where has it landed me? Trailer bound, my love of anything resembling a mass readership for my writing as yet unrequited, the perennial odd woman out at a couple's dinner, where I can at least count on my sorry state to ensure that somebody will take pity on me and give me the excess change after money has been collected to pay the bill.

Yes, it is time to face the competition and the fear head on, acknowledge it, put it out there, and continue to shoot for the stars. Which is why I am going to share with you the work of a young writer whose work has just been called to my attention, a thirteen year old girl who is destined for great things.  I can only hope to one day be capable of painting the kind of vivid picture she was able to paint in a hastily written letter from camp. If the mark of a great writer is the effect she has on her audience, one look at this writer's parents' therapy bills could be quite telling.  A copy of the most brilliant "Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah" letter appears below:




Game on, Sarah. Game on.