I probably should start by asking you to forgive me for being a little personal, but I kind of tend towards that anyway, so I guess I'm a little late with that. But I suppose that today is just a little more personal than normal.
I have a seven-year-old son. He just had a birthday, so he's the six-year-old I've referred to before. We just learned he has asthma. It's not that uncommon these days, and it's probably not a big deal to a lot of people, but it is to us. We have been dealing with a child who coughs for hours each night and can't fall asleep because of it. Or he wakes up in the middle of the night coughing, and is awake for hours continuing to cough. It has been hard to watch him struggling with what seemed like endless colds.
It is amazing to have four nights in a row with no coughing fits! And then last night, for the first time since we started treatment he began to cough at bedtime. My husband and I both wondered how many coughs added up to enough to warrant using his inhaler. But as he coughed a little more, we recognized the pattern leading up to a bad night. I gave him a dose from his inhaler. He coughed once right after and once maybe an hour later. That was it. This may not seem like much to you, but I had a hard time choking back the tears.
So what, you may ask, does this have to do with writing? I guess it that's emotions can come from surprising sources. And while you may not be choked up about my son have a normal night's sleep, if he had been the main character in my novel, and you had grown to know him and care about him, maybe you would be. That is, if I had written it right.
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