Twelve years ago, my sister and I stayed over a night in
Manhattan to watch my not
quite one-year-old cousin (he’s going to be thirteen next week – insaneo!), so
that my aunt and uncle could have a night out on the anniversary. The next day
we went for a walk through Central Park before
heading back home. My aunt and uncle brought us to see where all the balloons
were being blown up for the Thanksgiving Day Parade.
As I mentioned last year, the parade is sacrosanct to me. That being said, never once have I wanted to battle the crowds to see it in person. I like pajamas and a jump start on eating copious amounts of food and the knowledge that I do not have to stand for one second of the festivities. Cozy cushions were made for Thanksgiving morning.
The morning before Thanksgiving? Totally different. Somehow seeing all the effort that went into making the parade the basket full of awesome that it is did nothing to take away from the wonder of it all. (Not like when you find out how a particularly cool magic trick is just smoke and mirrors. Bummer.) Instead it only added to it all.
Interestingly, it inspired the same feeling as when I’m getting ready to revise a story. All the mechanical parts are there, but they appear to be just random, disconnected bits and bobs. Then you blow life into them and abracadabra. Suddenly what you have is something full of fun and whimsy. Something that’s going to make people excited and happy. Something that can be enjoyed whilst eating eggs and bacon and, maybe, a cinnamon roll. And really, isn’t that what we all want for our final product?
So, ever since then, when I’m writing, my goal is the Thanksgiving Day Parade. What do you write towards?