Wrong

Sometimes, when Demon Baby sleeps, I peer through the bars of his crib and hope one day I am not peering through the bars at him here. But, given his high degree of intelligence, I am thinking even IF he one day rips off the Federal Reserve, he'll be the criminal mastermind that gets away and lives in the Caymans. And in the meantime, I like watching him sleep.

And there's another thing. You see, when it's time for him to go to sleep, I take him upstairs and I read him a book. Usually, there is a tremendous amount of negotation on precisely HOW MANY books he gets. I aim for 2. He aims for 22. We meet in the middle.

Then, I put him in his crib. I have him fold his hands and I give him a prayer to recite. Something along the lines of "Angels watch over me. Help me to sleep well and grow. Amen." On bad days, something more like, "Angels, help me to be a good little boy, not a follower but a leader, but less gray hair for Mom in the meantime." Something simple. Easy. A conversation, not rote.

Then I lie down on the bed next to him, and we hold hands through the bars. (Like I said, sometimes I wonder if one day it'll be Plexiglass, but for now . . . .) And then usually in about five minutes, he falls alseep. Completely peacefully.

Now, every parenting book in the entire universe will tell you this is THE most screwed-up way to get your kids to go to sleep. But in my GUT, something tells me he will be a tiny little Demon Spawn for so short a time, it'll be over in the blink of an eye, and there is no way I would rather him fall alseep than to feel someone he loves holding his hand until slumber takes over. When morning comes, he storms into my bedroom like a Demon Baby out of Hell, and climbs into my bed for a cuddle, though lately, I am usually off walking, in which case, he picks a sibling and climbs in with them for a snuggle.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. They have whole BOOKS devoted to how wrong this is. FERBERIZE 'em! And you know what? F*ck the books.

Which applies to writing.

You see, for everything you want to try (writing your first book in first-person, starting with dialogue, whatever) . . . someone, some book, some writing teacher, hell, some BLOGGER will tell you it's wrong. I may even screw up once in a while and say something is the wrong way--but I don't think often. Usually, my response is "it's all in the execution." Because it is.

As a mother, I trust my gut. Nearly 100% of the time. I've never read a book on mothering. I don't buy self-help because nearly every self-help author I ever edited was pretty much on the upper end of the human toxicity scale. They can just talk a good game. I go with my gut, not someone else's. When Demon Baby wants his toenails painted, I paint them. I paint them black so it's more "manly" to appease certain family members, but I don't think I'm scarring the kid for life because he wears Pirate Toenail Polish (which is what Demon Baby and I call it).

As a writer, I trust my gut, too. I "know" innately when something's not working. I can edit people's work. I can "teach" writing. But I can't teach gut instinct.

The only way to learn to trust it is to write. A LOT.

When I was 16, I thought every short story I wrote was worthy of publication. Most of it was self-involved torturous drivel. As I continued writing, I learned I had raw talent, but that every story I wanted to tell wasn't necessarily worth telling. In other words, though I never saw a therapist, writing was acting as my therapy. Who wants to read that? For God's sake, I sure don't. I learned to cut through the crap and find a STORY to tell. With every passing year, my instinct grew. I learned craft, I became an editor, I began ghostwriting and writing for magazines. I edited more and more . . . and . . . the craft only helped hone the instinct.

So, like falling alseep with Demon Baby, I think sometimes you just gotta go with your gut. There isn't "wrong." Sometimes . . . there's just that still small voice. The more you trust it? The louder and more confident it becomes.

Thoughts?