A couple of weeks ago my daughter B (name withheld to protect the guilty) had the opportunity to go to the district science fair at the American Leadership Academy in Spanish Fork. This is the second year her project has made it to the district level, and she was pretty excited. I have to admit that, at first, I was not. The term science fair roughly translates to, “lots of work for Mom,” and district level means, “more work for Mom.” However, daughter B and partner did nearly everything themselves this year (aside from transportation and photography), and on the afternoon of the district fair, I packed them and the project into our suburban and headed south.
Once we were there, I had a good time, and the kids did too—repeatedly rehearsing their presentation, going to different Bill Nye-type science classes, watching a magic show, and eating pizza and hanging out with their friends. The event started at 4:00 and ended shortly before ten. I headed home around 7:00, when they went in for judging. Daughter B’s, partner’s dad took over from there. Hint to parents who may not yet have experienced, “the science fair”–Always have your child work with a partner. We’ve done this two years in a row, and it’s been a very good thing. Nothing like splitting the stress with another set of parents 🙂
When daughter B arrived home later that evening, I wasn’t sure if she was really my child or not. Normally she is easy-going and a source of great joy in our home, but the girl who walked through the door brought a storm cloud of out-of-control emotion with her. She marched up the steps, threw her belongings down and, with a scowl that stretched across her entire face, proceeded to unleash a tirade of anger and accusations, all directed toward an individual named Wart. When I finally got her calmed down, I discovered that Wart (name changed by my daughter) had won the only spot from their school to go on to the regional competition.
I was still baffled by my daughter’s odd behavior. After all, she hadn’t won last year, and it wasn’t a big deal. I reminded her of this.
“But Emily won last year, and she’s nice, so I was happy for her.”
“Wart isn’t nice?” I guessed.
“He’s horrid, Mom. And he cheated. He bought his mice for the project at Petco, and one of the rules was that you couldn’t buy animals at a pet store. Then he left them in the garage and they froze to death!”
“That’s too bad,” I said, silently wondering if Wart’s mom felt the same way. After all, what do you do with three science fair mice, after the fair is over? If it were me, I wouldn’t have been too excited about the prospect of three new pets. But still, my daughter had a point about animal cruelty.
“And that’s not all,” she continued. “He bribed the judges tonight. He bragged about it afterward.”
This accusation seemed a little over-the-top. “The judges were BYU students—probably a pretty honest bunch. I doubt they were bribed with a candy bar or anything else. Wart was probably just teasing. Boys your age do that a lot, you know.”
“I know,” she huffed as the first tear slid down her cheek. “But I really wanted to win a medal.”
Ahhhh . . . Now I got it. Daughter B, while easy-going, is also our most competitive child. Whatever she does, she likes to do it well, and she’ll keep at it until she does. The nine medals and two trophies in her room attest to this. She’s a bit of a perfectionist, something that has worried my husband and I on more than one occasion.
So I softened my words, put my arm around her, and comforted her as best I could. I reminded her what a great job she and her partner had done on their project. I told her it was an honor that she was one of a handful of kids who made it to the district level—two years in a row. I talked about the fun evening we’d shared together—free of her siblings—the things she’d learned doing the project, the fact that she was good at science. Her dad joined us, and we both told her how much we love her and how proud we are of all her accomplishments.
She went to bed a while later, somewhat mollified. And as I headed to bed myself, it struck me that the words of wisdom I’d just imparted to my daughter, were exactly how I felt about the upcoming Whitney awards. I also realized there were probably a few people I ought to express those feelings to.
For those reading this who may not know what I’m talking about, the Whitney Awards—named such for prominent LDS church member Orson F. Whitney—honor the best of LDS fiction. Counting Stars is a finalist this year in both the romance category and, best book by new author, category. That it’s there in either of those is pretty cool, and I sincerely thank all the people who nominated it. It was kind and thoughtful of you, and I truly appreciate such great fans.
However, after reading all those other books that Counting Stars is up against, I imagine the Whitney award results will, for me, be somewhat similar to the outcome of my daughter’s science fair. While I put my all into that story—laughed, cried, fell in love with the characters, pulled my hair out in frustration trying to make it all come together—it was just my best effort and not necessarily equal to someone else’s best. For example, Stephanie Meyer’s New York Times bestseller, Eclipse is also a finalist in the romance category. Whether you like what Mrs. Meyer writes or not (and I happen to like it quite a bit), if you’ve read her books, you will probably agree that she is a very good writer. If I’d been truly honest with my vote (LDStorymaker members each had one vote), I’d have chosen Eclipse for best romance of the year. But I’m not that noble 🙂 After realizing I’d missed my deadline for a June release and would not be getting another check until next February, I decided I would go ahead and vote for myself, on the off chance that it mattered. I’m certain Mrs. Meyer makes a tiny bit more than I do with her writing 🙂
But when all is said and done, and the night is over, I imagine that I will feel happy for whoever brings home the trophies. I’ve read and enjoyed the entries and am happy to say there are no “Warts,” only several well-deserving authors. I feel privileged to be listed among them, and I’m looking forward to an evening out with my husband and friends. Being a Whitney Award finalist is very much the icing on the cake to a dream come true. After spending seven years trying to get a book published, making it to “district level” the first time around is pretty amazing. But the real reward came months ago, when your emails and letters gave me what a writer dreams of the most—readers who love her story. I thank you for those letters, my trophy of words, that has become most precious and inspiring.