The "Wrong Fit"

*updated below*

This time last year my book came out. An April 1st release date delayed two weeks c/o life and its unexpected kookiness. I thought it was a sign as I usually do. Nothing ever goes right when you need it to. But that's okay. Because sometimes what is "right" isn't at all, not even close. Challenges are mandatory in life, especially when it comes to dreams being realized, spring arriving and with it the birds. Life is full of reminders that no matter how high we fly we are never above tragedy, loss or bad reviews.

This time last year I felt desperately alone and completely out of control. But I also felt elated because holy shit!!! I did it! I drew heads and legs on dreams and watched them walk out into the world and happy trails to you, little book. Happy trails.

After years of rejected manuscripts and kicking at doors, I had sold something. And it was out. Like, in stores.

It was as petrifying as it was liberating. I felt like I could do anything, regardless of how it was received. Learning to walk away from a critic smiling is like bungee jumping for those afraid of heights. I got to work right away on new projects and proposals and ideas I wanted to send out into the world. Because I can do anything! No one can stop me! Not even the voices telling me "Go on, you damn fool!" NOTHING!

But it hasn't been easy. Lots of work to be done. And I've been working my flat ass off this past year, not on Rockabye II: The Rockoning or even another book, but on a television pilot/script/proposal about new unexpected parenthood and the rebellion that follows. About the reestablishment of identity. The isolation. The utter ridiculousness of it all. Kind of like this blog in five acts.

Because I was so tired of the way mothers and fathers and families were depicted on television. All older and freshly pressed and wealthy with picket-fenced houses built out of brick and cliches. Because the only on-screen pregnant chick I'd ever related to was Juno and she gave her baby away. To Banana Republic's version of a "mom." Because moms don't look like Juno. Except actually? They do.

Because Jack Bauer on 24 is more relatable to new moms than the force fed politically-correct characters in In the Motherhood, Notes From the Underbelly and every other "parenting" show that lives briefly on network television before falling off the air. (I mean, really. Who are you seriously trying to reach with "rocker mom" Megan Mullally and her leather jacket circa 1996?)

not us said the fly!
...

Real mothers relate to women who are real -- who do not airbrush their lives or tuck in their shirts or bake heart-shaped cookies, sans burnt edges. Real women do not want to be bombarded by punchlines or political correctness. Real mothers are an all-ages show, a music festival with side stages and main stages and DJ tents to choose from. Why then must we all be lumped into the same category, herded by faulty shepherds toward the headlining act?

I was recently considered to be on Oprah with my friends from Momversation. After several exhaustive interviews and a week of waiting by the phone, I was told I was the wrong fit for the show.

"Cool. No problem. I understand," I said. And then I cried. Because who wants to be "the wrong fit" for anything?

The wrong fit for what? The wrong fit because... why?

"Because you're not exactly the 'down-the-middle' mom."

"Who is?"

As evidenced by these comments, very few of us feel like we "fit in" anywhere. And great because none of us have to.

Because it's a waste of time and heart to be anything but authentic.

Because unfortunately, what constitutes as "real parenting" on television these days are the Fake Housewives of New York City and Notes From the TV Executive's Wife's Playgroup .

But that will change. Or so I tell myself. Because no one wants to watch the "right down the middle television show. " No one relates to the "every-mom USA" advertisement.

Don't they?

Do you?

In the meantime I chase maybes, prepare proposals, rewrite scripts to land meetings with dudes who greenlight shows starring Horatio Sanz as the "manny" in order to convince them that the modern mother looks like me, too. Like US.

That in order to appeal to the audience they are so desperately after they must first tell an authentic story. (This, for example.) No talk of underbellies or motherhoods necessary.

Because "right down the middle" no longer exists. "The wrong fit" might pertain to jeans but not to people. Not to motherhood or parenthood or any other hood. Because an authentic experience is always right. Always appealing. And always relatable. Regardless of what it is or who you are or what the tattoos on your arms say.

(100% authentic grade A. happy baby)

So I'll continue to write what I know. Because that is what I've always done: knocking on doors, trying to convince strangers and executives and production peeps to spare some change re: the same old same old. And when I'm done knocking? I'll just knock again. Because quite often that's the only way to get anywhere with anything.

...

Happy Birthday, little book. You dream come true, you.

And many more.

GGC

In lieu of dreams and their anniversaries, and "wrong fits" being right on and me going on tangents like crazy, I'd like you to tell me what you're doing today to further your dream? Whether it be writing a book, screenplay, studying french, learning to tap dance or start a photography business, opening an Etsy store to sell your homemade jewelry, fighting for a cause...

One of you will be picked at random to win a First Act Acoustic Guitar, a signed copy of Rockabye and a year of free GGC adspace for your product, Etsy store or cause. Thank you for supporting this blog and my book and everything else. Thank you for always being real.

You rock.

...

Congratulations to the lovely Heather for winning all of the goodies above. And thanks to all of you for your words and support and loveliness per always.