No, I don’t have kids. But I know enough parents that I think that I’m qualified to make this comparison. Other writers have. Why should I be left out just because I don’t have any kids?
Oh, but I do.
My stories are like my children in a way.
I gave birth to them. I nurtured them, sometimes getting up in the odd hours to make notes or jot something down, not going out with friends to stay home with the story, and worrying about it when I’m working on something else.
I do my best to raise them right, try to bring out the best in them, encourage their strengths and try to improve their weaknesses.
I get annoyed by them, aggravated by their unceasing demands for attention when all I want to do is take a five minute break. I get frustrated when they won’t do what I want them do and sometimes, I just don’t like them very much.
But, in the end, I love them. And there comes a time when I have to hope that all of my hard work will be rewarded when I send them out into the world. I have to hope that others will read them and know them and love them as I have. I have to hope that the world will be kind and they will be accepted.
And then I thank my lucky stars that they’re only stories. They don’t have feelings, so they can’t be beaten down by rejection because they’re likely to get rejected a lot. That’s the way of the writing world.
However, they also don’t ask for money. If it all works out right, they make me money. And it’s legal.