We are Made of Stories by Cathy Shouse #WordWranglers

The Wranglers welcome writer Cathy Shouse to the ranch today. An accomplished non-fiction writer, Cathy's crossing to the dark side these days--romantic fiction! 😊We are glad to have her with us.

In 2015, my teenager and I had the opportunity to attend an unusual new conference started by the author, Hank Green. NerdCon was an amazing mix of authors, actors, and performers who shared their work and ideas on creativity. Presenters included Hank (A Beautifully Foolish Endeavor), John Green (author of The Fault in Our Stars), Mara Wilson (the little girl from the Mrs. Doubtfire movie), and Lev Grossman (author and former Time magazine columnist) 

The NerdCon theme “We are Made of Stories,” has stayed with me as a journalist, a novelist, and a storyteller. I want to share more stories and to hear more of other people’s stories, in every form. It’s time to stop waiting and worrying about what people think about all of our stories .

Unfortunately, letting go of what people think doesn’t come easily for me, and this story I’m about to tell you proves that.

Here goes.

By the time our son was ten, I’d shared one of my core philosophies countless times. “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.” I certainly believed I had kicked to the curb any need to change myself to fit in with others. 

I said I didn’t care when Matt claimed that other mothers didn’t enforce a specific bedtime like I did, and stood firm against allowing a TV in his bedroom, although so many kids had them.

But then for reasons I can’t fully explain, I decided to let my son enter his name in the school’s annual 4th grade rat drawing. Secretly, I may have thought this would lay aside the issue of my “coolness” once and for all. Giving permission seemed harmless enough. I really didn’t want a rat.

But I’d done the math and with three classes involved, Matt’s chances of winning were slimmer than a rat’s whisker. So when he bounded off the school bus the day of the drawing and burst into the doorway saying he’d won, I could not have been more surprised or horrified.

“Wow, how did you get so lucky?” My words squeaked out. 

He beamed. “Almost none of the other kids’ moms would let them have a rat!”

He was aware that one rat had been given milk to drink and the other soda pop, as a study in nutrition. “I hope we got the one who drank milk so she’ll live longer!” 

I didn’t share my angst or my wish to have won the rat with the shorter life span. At the school to bring home the pink-eyed albino rat with a long, rope-like tail, I stood by the cage and an involuntary shudder went up my spine. How had I gotten myself into this? 

But I couldn’t admit my true feelings. Rejecting Zoe would make me the most uncool of all. A perfectionist, I vowed to be a good rat owner and bought a rat manual that said they wet and leave their droppings at random. It suggested letting the rat roam the house. No worries if they escaped their cages at night, which they often did. Just look for them sleeping in bed with your kids. Eww! 

Many nights I was the one prowling, to check our son’s room for the beady, almost infrared eyes that glowed inside that cage. Zoe couldn’t lift the brick I’d placed on top.

For Zoe’s playtime, I wrapped our tiny bathroom with a sheet, plugged a towel under the door, and allowed her to walk on my five-year-old daughter’s shoulder. But I drew the line if she got near her hair. Afterward, the sheets got scalded and surfaces were scrubbed with disinfectant. The bathroom was never so clean.

By April, we’d all lost interest and I was done. While the kids visited grandma, I dropped off Zoe and her things at a pet shop that agreed to find her a new home. My worries about my son’s reaction were relieved when he shrugged and said he never bonded with Zoe. 

Later, being all about “teachable moments,” I knew this lesson was for me. Maybe it was human nature to want to fit in, at any age. “Winning” a rat had driven that realization home for good.

So, have you ever done something to fit in and then regretted it? Care to share? 

I’m in the midst of writing Hometown Christmas and Her Billionaire Cowboy’s Twin Heirs, both contemporary romances. To join me on more storytelling adventures and to follow along with my journey into writing contemporary, wholesome romances, please visit www.cathyshouse.com. 

Cathy Shouse grew up on a farm believing that love conquers all, which is why she finds writing romance so satisfying, especially when cowboys or billionaires are involved. She lives in a small Indiana town north of Indianapolis with her husband. Her greatest challenge is parking her helicopter parenting fleet since the couple’s two children entered adulthood. She loves traveling, visiting her “kids,” or enticing them to join in her latest adventure. Find Cathy at http://www.cathyshouse.com/ or on Twitter at @cathyshouse