Hey {{First Name | there}},
A few days before spring break last year, I got the idea for a children's book about my son Milo and his best friend Lucas.
Our move was approaching fast, and I was grappling with how to say goodbye to our friends — people who had become like family. But I was also watching Milo, my older son, and trying to figure out how to help him through the same thing.
Once the book idea came, it felt electrical. I kept spinning it around in my head — in the car, in the hotel pool, laying in the dark waiting for my boys to fall asleep. When we got home, I got to work. I found time at night, in short work blocks during the day. I just kept going, figuring out the steps as I went — researching the basics of children's books, pinning illustration styles. By Mother's Day, I had several spreads painted.
Then our move was in full swing. I missed my first deadline. Moved the target to Lucas' birthday. Then Christmas. Barely made progress in either window.
A few days before spring break this year — exactly one year later — I went on a walk and got a download for a whole new children's book.
The first one still isn't finished.
Why am I not working on it?
It overwhelms me. These precious boys, Milo, Lucas, and their little brothers. Painting them brings up so many memories. And how much I miss my friend. How much I miss Wednesday play dates in the foothills. Taking toddlers to snowboard on the backside of the mountain. All of the parks. All of the conversations interrupted by owies and snacks and these two little boys I love so much and no longer get to spend time with.
That's the honest answer. Grief is sitting right on top of the work.
Others might call it procrastination. I’m not claiming I’m not procrastinating. Just that I don’t think that’s the full story.
The full story, of course, is more complicated.
When I set out to write this book, I wanted to honor something I believed deeply — that friendships are true and meaningful and influential even before we can talk or express that. Even when they change or fade or we no longer remember the person in quite the same way. Same with place.
People said a lot during our move: it's good to do it when the kids are young, before they're too established in schools or with friends. And while I agreed, I felt like there was an implication underneath that — that it wouldn't affect them deeply.
And I believed it would, even if they adjusted really well.
During this time, I kept thinking about when I had to say goodbye to my friend Krystal when her family moved to Arizona. I lost it. Then, as a preteen, I locked myself in a bedroom with my friend when we got off the bus and saw a For Sale sign in her yard. We cried in there. I couldn't imagine my life without her.
My family moved states when I was 8, and I don’t remember any dramatic goodbyes or crying. I was excited about the next chapter.
So the book also speaks to the experience of being the one who remains when a friend leaves. Because that’s a lot for a kid to process, too. The way life moves on when you feel a gap.
As I made progress on the book, it started to feel a lot bigger than a story just for our kids and our friends. And that's really slowed down the process. Because what does that mean? What does that mean for me, for how I move forward? I feel like I owe it to the work to do it well — so it can be read by more people. But I don't know how to do that. Self-publishing a children's book sounds like a whole extra job on top of the five I already have. Finding an agent, pitching publishers — also a whole other full-time job.
Getting a new idea has lit a fire under me to make a choice.
It’s forcing me to ask, am I just procrastinating? Or is something unfolding here that I need to pay attention to?
Letting a year go by has given me a lot of perspective on the friendship I've written about, and the larger theme I'm exploring. My experience has deepened, gotten richer. And I am watching the truth of how early friendships shape us in beautiful ways.
I want to finish it. I think I’ll be ready to finish it after this vacation.
The new idea can wait its turn. I don't need to know how I'll publish this first book to finish it. I can get a copy into my hands and my friend's hands and trust I'll see the path forward as it unfolds.
If the ideas are going to keep coming — and they will — I need to finish the work I already know is mine to do so I can be ready.
— Jennifer
