The other day, my 5-year-old son and I engaged in a game we play frequently, where we ask each other questions that we both have to answer. The questions often start with, “What’s your favorite…” Really, it’s just an organized form of chatting.

I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. “Paleontologist and soccer player. What do you want to be?”

I beamed at him. “I’m already grown up and I’m doing what I wanted: writing.” He stared at me, in wonder I assumed, so I continued. “I write down stories and one day they’ll be in a book like the ones on your shelves.” (I’d already told him all this, but my son’s memory of things is directly related to his appreciation for them–he can name about 800 dinosaurs.)

“Oh. Okay.” Clearly, I’d told him I had a large infection in my eye because he looked at me with such concern.

See–this is why I have to write a blog. I get no appreciation from my day job.

My first piece is up at Great New Books and I’d love it if you dropped by. I review The Snow Child (bet you thought that referred to my 5-year-old son). I’m closing comments at True STORIES, once I figure out how to do that, so CLICK HERE to swing by Great New Books and drop me a line!