I watched the movie Pitch Perfect the other night. It was a seriously funny and entertaining. Everything appealed--the songs, the dancing, the plot. I have to admit I never got into Glee (truth be told, I’ve never seen even one episode, please don’t hate on me).  But this movie? I don’t know if it was Rebel Wilson, the writing or the movie. But I can’t stop thinking about it.

Here’s what sticks with me: When the Barden Bellas perform I Saw The Signs at regionals, they sound aca-awesome. Blended, homogenous…bland. Suddenly Beca (Anna Kendrick) launches into the chorus of another song, Bulletproof, harmonizing beautifully. It’s shocking, a whole new remix. Her teammates continue singing their song, but her voice stands out from all the others. Strong, vibrant and completely different. She takes the performance in a new direction.

That scene reminds me of how I think about writing. The introduction of a new song, a new story idea, in the midst of all the information in my brain, is like the standout voice in the movie. The chord is often small, but it is insistent enough to make me want to explore where the thought will take me. To write something new…to take the road less traveled.

I’ve listened to the melody, and heard the harmony. It guides me to the right words to put together to create a story. For me, it’s music on the page. Each time I hear a new harmony in my mind, I want to follow it until the song is sung, and the story is told.

It calls my name and I have to find a way to make the world sing along with my words. 

Years ago, Hilary Rodham Clinton wrote a book called It Takes A Village. The premise? Create a community to raise children to be smart, able and resilient adults. The title of her book evolved into a catchphrase for whenever strides forward were brought about by a group, or community.

While I might not use a community to take responsibility for or to raise my children, I’m not above seeking assistance for projects I’m working on. Writing is a solitary occupation. It’s just the story and me most days. But, occasionally I need help and turn to friends, colleagues and research sources for assistance. Each step is a learning experience.

My critique partners have helped me improve and refine my writing and haven’t been shy about providing much needed direction on occasion. I’ve learned about music therapy by reaching out to a local organization (and created a friend as a result). I’ve learned about photography from a former co-worker, and am looking forward to being taught the finer points of astro-painting.

And yesterday, I learned about creating a website with the help of a dear friend. It was an adventure filled with laughter, uh-ohs and oh mys! The result—happy dancing around my kitchen and a lot of high-fiving and hugging.

So that village I’m talking about? I’m grateful mine is full of giving, supportive people.

Now, back to writing.

My life, like the lives of many other people, has been a waiting game. I waited five years to start kindergarten. My mother can attest to how eager I was to go to school with the big kids. I had to be patient for four years while I earned my degree in Journalism. I thought the eight months I waited to say I do after my husband proposed were interminable. But slightly more manageable than the nine months I endured twice, waiting for the birth of my children. I thought that would never end.

The proverbial they say that good things come to those who wait. And I have waited over eight years to finally be able to say – I’m publishing a book! Or rather, Lyrical Press is publishing a book I wrote. My debut novel Cooking Up Love will be available in January 2014. My second novel, Hearts in Harmony will be out in May 2014.

When I originally found out the projected publication date on the first book, it seemed like it would be another lengthy episode of the waiting game. Contrary to the way the rest of my life has unfolded, this time is simply flying by. What began as almost an entire year of waiting is now just six short months away.

January will be here before I know it.