When I was little, I had this pink and blue blanket. I've been told it wasn't my first blanket, that I had a white whale blanket that was lost, and then it was replaced with this pink and blue blanket that had been given to me at birth by my awesome grandparents, Gigi and Gipop. (Who knows how much of this is true: my Mom and Dad could tell you). I carried this pink and blue blanket everywhere. There's something about my family: we're all attachment oriented. My kids have their blankies too, and they won't sleep without them.
Well, I was one of those privileged kids. My parents had a housekeeper. We went through several housekeepers, some that I loved and some that I didn't. We had one who stole $100 out of the freezer (why was it in the freezer in the first place?), one that drank out of my parents' alcohol bottles and refilled it with water, but we also had one that would talk to me, watch Little House on the Prairie with me, and who I still think of fondly to this day. But on this particular day, we had a new housekeeper. I tucked my blanket underneath my pillow, and I went to school for the day: sixth grade. I came home that evening, and when I went to my room I noticed my bed had been made. I never made my bed. I figured the new housekeeper must have done the sheets and re-made the beds, so I began looking for my blanket, and it was nowhere to be found. The pit of anxiety welled up in my stomach, as I marched downstairs to my mom.
"Where is my blanket?"
"Oh, Lauren, it must be in your bed."
"It's not there, Mom."
"Well maybe she threw it away, thought it was a rag."
"How could she think it was a rag. It's my baby blanket!"
"It is rather holey."
So I went dumpster diving, and guess what? The maid had thrown it in the trashcan, but luckily the trash wasn't to be picked up until the next day. It went through the washing machine twice, and my mom told the new housekeeper that the blanket was special and not to be thrown out.
The blanket still lives in the top of my closet, well-loved. |
It's funny how we find attachment in objects, security needed so we can make that next step: be it leaving our mothers as kindergartners or writing our first novel. Before the blanket, I used to carry around one of my mom's satin slips, because it felt like her and smelled like her. She replaced it with the blanket, because carrying around her slip could have been considered inappropriate.
When I lost that blanket, and thought it was gone forever, I felt so lost and insecure. I used the blanket when I was sad, anxious, feeling bad, and it helped me get through those moments. In writing, I have used so many things like a baby blanket to get me through too. And there's no problem with that. I've found writer's groups, and I've depended on them, stroking them for information, having them help promote my upcoming book, and creating a network for asking questions. We all have crutches, and for a long time I used my insecurity as a hindrance, until I realized I needed to replace my baby blanket with something real and tangible that could help me get past the insecurity I felt. Because let me tell you: everyone feels insecure, everyone is afraid of criticism: it's getting past those fears that allows you to be successful.
The thing is there are always going to be people who don't like your book. There are also going to be people who love it. And I'm betting every published book has a typo. I know I've found them when I wasn't even looking. We are all human, and therefore we will always make mistakes.
So grab a hold of your baby blanket, and find what you love to do. Don't be afraid. Find security in the little things to help you move forward.
Guess what I did yesterday? An interview on Bookreader Magazine. You can check it out here: http://bookreadermagazine.com/featured-author-lauren-greene/
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