I read that writers ought to have someone read their manuscript. If the reader says “It’s crap,” send them a bottle of champagne.
Well, that’s assuming it’s an honest assessment of course. A couple of extremely wonderful, courageous, talented people read my manuscript and didn’t tell me it was crap, kind souls that they are. Thank you, thank you. Well, dear readers, it’s different now. I’ve been rewriting, editing, changing the beginning, changing the ending, thinking about it, scaring myself, motivating myself, reliving our adventure, cutting out so many parts my “extra” file is bigger than the manuscript. You know how it is, it’s finished, it isn’t finished. Okay, read it again. How did those types get in there? What? What was I talking about? Okay, who’s toying with my pages?
Once called Life Beyond the Horizon, Secrets from the Big Island, I’ve renamed my manuscript about our move to and from Hawaii to The Frog’s Song, Secrets from the Big Island.
Some of my old time readers might laugh. I have used that title for so long they are probably tired of it. Darling Daughter and I have even acquired that name as a non-profit status—not that we know what to do with it. The name suits me—I don’t know, maybe it’s that I can croak out my words, maybe that frogs have potential to become princesses…
I loved the Coqui frog’s song of Hawaii. It seemed pertinent that I was plunked down in the midst of singing frogs. Many people on the island wanted to eradicate them—frogs that sound like birds, that make the jungle ring, that eat insects and mosquitoes, that do not harm anything they don’t eat, and their song is to call a mate. Right, that seems like something to eradicate.
“The frog calls the rain that settles the dust for our journey.”
Okay let’s move it.
Love from Joyce
