I have three children. One of them is me.
I don’t mean in the literal sense obviously, that would be creepy. I’m referring to my eight year old. As he matures I can’t help but see more and more of me in him. Without my wife or I encouraging the behavior he is taking on more and more of my mannerisms as the days go by.
Like most writers I am an introvert. I have no problem spending hours by myself with little to no interaction with anyone else. I can easily fall into a book or a writing project and lose track of time. I like puzzles, on paper or in physical form, it doesn’t really matter, I’ll pick at them until they are solved. I’m also a professional amateur engineer. If it can’t be built with Lego’s than I’m heading for the power tools. Books are a constant. Like my parents did with me I often have to ban them from the dinner table.
My son is just like me. Him and I can spend hours building things with Lego’s with speaking more than a few words. I’m constantly being shown things on the computer that we can build together. (Do you know what a stickbomb is? You should, it’s cool.) His Christmas list contains items like origami paper, remote control parts, more racetrack, and a Rubik’s cube. While his friends are asking for video games and app store money, he wants his own tool kit.
Then there’s homework. While all three of my kids do well in school, my mini me excels when it comes to being creative. While the others moan and groan when they come home with a writing assignment Mini Me is often excited. He is picky however, if the subject is something he is not really interested in it takes some coaching to get him started, but once he has THE BIG IDEA its best to just get out of the way. He even uses dialog and humor, which I encourage. The other kids struggle with this but for him it just seems to be there already. He’s even gone to the length of writing his stories “sideways” and then stapling the pages together to make a book. He knows what cover art is. He has me or mom edit his story before it goes to his teacher. He asked me the other day what a review was.
It’s kind of scary sometimes.
Steven King has a successful writer for a son. Janet Evonovitch coauthors books with her son.
Is there a writing gene? Or is it the fact that he’s growing up around me and sees what I do every day?
I’m starting to wonder.
I do know this; when he does get THE BIG IDEA, I can see it on his face. I know exactly how he feels.
And it’s good.