Ironically, someone who never left her hometown of about 14,000 residents has told me several times, "If you're going to dream, dream big." That someone is my grandmother. When I was younger, she was a traditional matriarch organizing family gatherings for her three children, six step-children, and about 24 grandchildren.
In her older age, though, she became a more sedentary figure, organizing only evenings with Alex Trebek, Pat Sajak, and a pile of Circle-A-Word books. For such a humble figure, it's surprising that she frequently offered advice to dream big.
But now that I've actually finished a book, I find myself following Grandma's advice.
Who am I kidding? I've been dreaming of seeing my name on the New York Times bestsellers list for the better part of a decade. I've imagined my fabulous stories turned into Hollywood blockbusters with A-list celebrities telling me how much they like my work. It takes a pompous person to think people I've admired for my whole life would be moved by my presence.
Either that, or I've really bought into this idea of dreaming big. And like Grandma always said, why not?
Why not imagine that agents are going to swoon over my book? That they'll fight to represent me. That I'll score a huge advance on royalties despite the current economic climate (allowing me to spend summers writing in a French chateau, an Italian villa, or an English cottage). That my book will open the gates with huge sales. That hesitant teen readers will pick up my book and discover the love for reading I've had my entire life.
Aaaah, here's to dreaming big.