To The Tree Houses!

Hello my lovelies!

Yesterday, I was hanging out in the bedroom by myself (a rare treat in the stay-at-home-mom universe, I assure you…) and the hubster came in to find my lying on the bed with a pillow over my face.

“Hanging in your Tree House?” he asked.

My hubs is great people.  Not only does he respect and support the craziness that is the wife who wants to be a writer, but he knows the name of the place my stories live, and can spot the signs of my hanging out in that wacky land.

He actually coined the term, “Tree House” for me a few years back.  It’s a place that I can go in my head where all my characters live, and I can watch the amazing things they do.  I first started going there for a specific story when I was thirteen-years-old for a book that I wrote, and am hell bent on re-writing again one day.  It’s my favorite story to disappear into.  There isn’t an hour that goes by in my day that I don’t climb up in there and enjoy the scenery.

I have multiple rooms in the Tree House.  There is the oldest book whose title remains a secret from everyone in the world, Ellie and her  loopy antics, Isadora who deserves better than I have given her yet, Chasing Pineapple, my next women’s fiction that I will start actually writing quite soon, and several others that stay on a regular rotation.

I wonder if other authors have a place like this.  I would have to assume that they do.   It always feels like there is a certain part of my brain that is tucked safely away, just waiting for me to come play with it.

When I was a kid, and trying to escape the clusterfuck that was middle school and high school, that is where I would be.  I’d dart into class, take my seat, climb into my Treehouse, and stay there until the bell rang.  I couldn’t hear the teasing or meanness from the other kids when I was in there.  No matter how many times they would beat me up, or lock me in lockers (Yes, that happened.  I was a short kid.  Squeezed right in there.) or bullied the general heck right out of me, I could flick a switch in my head and I’d be in a very happy place.

Now, admittedly, I am fairly certain that my time spent in my Tree House is also the explanation as to how I failed biology so spectacularly, but  I maintain that it was a fair enough trade.

So, my dear friends, here is to our Tree Houses.  That magical hiding place where books are born and coddled until they become published works of brilliance.  And even if we never see our words printed on those luxurious feeling paper pages, held together with delicious smelling binding, we will always have our Tree Houses.

And that makes us so much luckier than the people that don’t.

I hope you all are having a splendid Wednesday!

Until next time,

Peace, Love and Tree Houses

4 Comments

  1. I can’t believe I’m actually admitting this on the interwebs… but my happy mind treehouse is the only place I write fanfic. Usually for shows/books/movies that are ten or more years old. I’ve done it since I was a little kid.

    See, look what you made me admit.

  2. “My name is Triona, and I am a Tree House, fanfic writer.”

    “Welcome, Triona.” *solemn nods*

    Hehehe. Hey man, there is crazy shiz that goes on in my Tree House, so no judgment here!!

  3. your writing makes me feel so much happy. i love reading your stuff!!!!!!!! <3<3<3 by the way. i want a banner to link to your page to put on mine. so the 3 people who read my blog will know to come find you and bask in awesome.

  4. Awww!!!

    I need to add your awesome ‘tocks to my blog roll as well!!!

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