I’m continually amazed at the capacity of the subconscious mind. Sometimes a memory comes to me unbidden. When that happens, I always try to connect it to something current.
The other day I remembered a conversation I had with a childhood friend. She and I were friends from third grade through high school, but then as young wives and mothers, we drifted apart. We talked on the phone a few times through the years, and finally met up at a mutual friend’s birthday party where we reminisced about our childhoods.
Compared to my family, I considered her family rich. I told her how happy I was when she invited me to stay for lunch at her house because she had glorious things like Coke and shaved ham sandwiches on sesame rolls. She told me she preferred eating at my house because we had Kool-aid and bologna sandwiches on Wonder bread.
There’s a two-fold reason. With my novel, The Brevity of Roses, coming out soon, I think I needed reminders that:
- My book is not me.
- Not everyone will like it—and that’s all right.
I know very well that reading taste is a personal thing. In the last year, I’ve picked up several books others raved about, only to find I did not enjoy them. That didn’t make them bad books. They just weren’t good books for me. I don’t dislike the authors who wrote them—they may all be lovely people. And I consider some of them good writers. I just didn’t care for those particular books.
So, yeah, if a few of you don’t like my book, I’ll be okay with that. Some people like ham, some like bologna.
[tweetmeme source=”cassidylewis” only_single=false]