Submitted by Kelly Coon
Throughout the day, I wear a slew of different hats. I'm a mom to three boys and a rescue pup, a wife, a writer, an editor, and as of November of 2017, an author with a book deal from Penguin Random House. I'm over the moon to report that my first young adult fantasy is scheduled to be published in the fall of 2019. It recounts the tale of a 16-year-old healer's apprentice who must save a dying Sumerian king or her little sister will be buried alive to serve him in the Netherworld.
My sons say it's spooky, but cool.
After many years of dedicated work, it's thrilling to be able to say that the book (and its sequel) will be published. It's a lifelong dream fulfilled. A bucket-list item I can check off my list. But this excitement pales compared to the gift I received on Christmas morning. My 10-year-old son, Brady, made me save his gift for last. With bright eyes, he watched me intently as I tore into the package. To my surprise, nestled with the greatest of care inside a little box, was a Harry Potter snitch bookmark, a gift he'd given because, in his words, "Now, you're an author like J. K. Rowling."
It's a trinket I will treasure every day of my life. For in that moment, he hadn't just recognized me as his mom, or his dad's wife, or the crazy person running around doing all the things I do on a daily basis; he'd seen my innermost passion, had recognized it, and had reached across from himself to me to express his shared joy in my journey.
Nothing will ever touch that.
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