Pirate of the Written Word

“My mom says you write about me,” Cedar Mae says to me in the car on the way to town.

“Yup, I do.” There is not an ounce of shame in this confession. We’ talked about this before, Cedar just forgets sometimes. This, ironically, from the same kid who can remember lines from Pirates of the Caribbean verbatim, but I guess an old writing teacher can’t hold a stick to Johnny Depp’s eyeliner and silky tan.

“Oh yeah, that’s right. You told me. What’s my fake name again? Cedar who?”

“Mae. Cedar Mae.”

“That’s cool. What do you write?”

“I write about what we do together, the places we go. I write about your good qualities. I write about how you show me things in life.”

“Oh, like when we go swimming at the river? I read that one I think…” her attention wanders to a loud car of teenagers passing us on the state highway. I am taking she and her older sister to the local theatre to see the sequel to Pirates.

“Yup. Yeah, and when we walked to the cemetery on the full moon,” I add.

“It’s ok if you write about me. Besides, you like tell me about your life and stuff so that’s fine. I read your stories about being a teenager. The best thing about your stories is that they’re true.”

I do not tell Cedar this, but her approval is worth its weight in gold. To hear that a teenager values a true story couldn’t make me happier. After all, Cedar would be, I suppose, my future market (meaning that about the time I finally, hopefully, land a book deal – she’ll be out on her own and doing things like driving around town to run errands at bookstores).

“Do you still do that thing online? That blog?” Cedar asks. At this her sister perks up, the older and wiser ear more attuned to the ways of the internet now at full attention.

“Mmm-hmmm,” I say.

“And you like, reveal secrets about your life?”

At this I laugh. “Yeah, I you could say that,” I pause for a moment. “Actually, yes. Completely.”

Secrets. Reveal. My Life. One year of secrets, of revealing, of my life. Composed in a container of first draft only, late-night, word-limit creativity.

“Tomorrow will be day 365,” I say, realizing it myself as I say it.

“Whoa. I don’t think I could like, sit still long enough, to handle that.”

“Fair enough. But anyone can sit still for two and a half hours of Johnny Depp, right?”

I park the car, we hop out, and yet another adventure with Cedar Mae begins.

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