I’m feeling sort of grumpy today. Maybe it’s the heat. I also keep thinking about the email message that my mother sent from Michigan, where my dad was attending his class reunion. My dad went to high school in Reed City, which is kind of a podunk town (sorry if you’re from there). One of his classmates had a son who grew up to write a book. This son, Doug Stanton, was a special speaker at the class reunion. His book is about the U.S.S. Indianapolis, which sank during WWII. It was published by a major publisher and it’s going to be made into a movie. I’m happy for him. Really. It’s not the kind of book I’d normally read, but I understand that books like that are popular. Fine. So what bothered me about my mother’s email was her writing, “Maybe your book will be made into a movie, too. You never know, honey.” It’s as if having your book made into a movie somehow validates it. I’m sorry if people are too lazy to read, but how many times do you see a movie and think, “The book was so much better!” And I understand how movies reach more people, but why can’t the book be enough in itself? I would be happy about the money that I might get, but I don’t see how my novel could be turned into a movie. Some Hollywood screenwriter would make lots of changes, turn it into a thriller, and then it wouldn’t be my work at all. *Sigh* I suppose I should get used to this kind of thing. Next, Mom will say, “Maybe you’ll get a story published in Good Housekeeping, you never know.” Or “Maybe Oprah will have you as a guest. You never know.” But even if none of these things happen, I am still happy that I am about to publish my first book.