35 Days to 35: My Mother, the Artist

My Mom Rebekah is a woman of many, many talents, although she wouldn’t see it that way. She’s recently added ‘published author’ to that repertoire. One of my favorite talents of hers is her artistic ability. I can remember growing up and being in awe of her ability to make things come to life. Norman Rockwell is my favorite male painter, but without a trace of hesitation, I can say that she is my favorite female painter.

She imbues every painting with so much life, light and color. To me, she has an instantly recognizable style. They seem to leap off the canvas. She’s also tried her hand (successfully, in my opinion) to wood carving, ornaments, gourds, pumpkins, and the like. While not having a lick of this kind of talent myself, I do enjoy bragging about hers.
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Climbing the Mountain

As someone who seemingly has unceasing dreams and aspirations, I can honestly say I understand the drive, the passion and the insanity that a big dream, or even a calling, can inflict upon the poor soul who dared to have it in the first place.

In 2012, my mother, Rebekah, was inflicted by such a calling. She called me and told me she had an idea for a story, maybe even a novel. She outlined the whole thing for me and then laughed as she told me I should write it for her. To her shock and dismay, I turned her down. “That’s the thing about a dream, Mom. It has to be lived out by the person who has it. Nobody else can do it for you.”

“But I don’t know how!” she replied. I reminded her that my first film was made with little more knowledge than that. But I learned along the way, and there was one thing I was certain of. If I could do it, she could do it. While I knew it would be scary for her, I also knew that there was no replacement for the euphoria she would feel when she finished. Even if, as she said she feared, no one ever read it, it would be her own personal scaled mountain.

And the view would be glorious.

Once she realized I was serious when I said I wasn’t going to write it for her, she decided she would tackle that mountain. On December 27th, 2012, she began her story.

Now, December 27, 2014, exactly two years, and hundreds of hours of writing, researching, and rewriting later, not only does she have a completed book, but she has a SECOND book fully drafted. On November 1st of this year, she entered NaNoWriMo, which is short for “National Novel Writing Month.” The goal is to draft a 50k word novel in 30 days or less.

She finished in 21.

Back in July, I asked her to sit down and answer a few questions about the book. I told her I would publish them when the book became available. This is that interview.
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Dear Katelyn

Dear Katelyn,

I know this may be difficult for you to believe, seeing as there are hundreds of babies born every day, and you might be concerned that your parents were exaggerating, but, your Mom and Dad are correct when they inform you that on June 12, 2014, you were the most beautiful, perfect soul to enter this world. For the first few days of your existence, your mother was heard to utter over and over, “Isn’t she the cutest thing EVER?” to anyone who would listen.

Right now, things are still really fresh and new (and cold) to you, and you’re awesome at sleeping a lot, so I’m happy, as one of your surrogate Aunts, to give you a quick family history, and to talk about perfect timing.

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The Golden Corral Bathroom Cookie War Radio Drama

The Golden Corral was the second stop of the day after wandering aimlessly around the massive expanse of a retail store that is the “Bass Pro Shop.” From one sensory overload to another, it was an afternoon of indulgence that only Southerners know how to partake of.

After feasting on the smorgasbord like Templeton the Rat at the fair, I made the necessary bathroom visit before departing. A few seconds behind me followed a very impressive child screamer of about five years old or younger, and his mother.

(Reminder: This encounter was so impressive, I’m writing a post about it, so don’t stop reading yet.)

I must confess that I stayed in the stall longer than I should have to listen to the outcome. It turned out to be dinner and a show. But more like a Radio Drama, since, you know, I couldn’t see their faces.

Scene: Golden Corral Bathroom

Sobbing child enters, followed by Mother.

Wait….I must edit that. Not sobbing.

Gut wrenching, melodramatic screaming child enters followed by Mother.

Better.

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Shelby Eatenton Is Real

“How is that baby ever going to understand how wonderful his mother was? How will he ever know what she went through for him?”

— M’Lynn Eatenton, “Steel Magnolias”

A note from author Robert Harling under the cast of character descriptions in the play “Steel Magnolias” reads: “The women in this play are witty, intelligent, and above all, real characters. They in no way, shape or form are meant to be portrayed as cartoons or caricatures.”

Robert Harling was serious. Shelby Eatenton is real.  I don’t mean real in the metaphysical way in that she’s real because I was one of the very fortunate women to bring her to life. Or the countless other women who have proceeded me in bringing her to life. I mean, and he means, she was a real young woman who really lived, and who really died.

She was his sister, Susan Harling Robinson.

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