[ WP ] You 've been writing the same book for 50 years with few breaks and no writers block . Your grandson finally has the courage to ask you about it .

`` Is that.. your book?'' asked Jane tentatively. I stopped my flow of writing and looked at my granddaughter, who looked strikingly like her mother. `` Yes, it is.'' I smiled at her. She was a curious child. 
 
 `` Mommy says you've been writing since before she was born.'' 
 
 `` Yes, I have.'' 
 
 `` Can you read me one of your stories?'' 
 
 `` Oh, I'm sorry, sweety. I'm not done. The story is n't complete.'' 
 
 `` But you've been writing for.. a bajillion years.'' 
 
 `` That is true, but this is n't like other stories. This one takes time.'' 
 
 `` Well, how long?'' 
 
 `` As long as I live, I will try to keep writing.'' 
 
 `` So you wo n't stop writing? How will you finish it then?'' 
 
 `` I wo n't.'' 
 
 `` Grandpa, you're not making sense.'' 
 
 `` Ha, my dear. I told you, this is n't like other stories. Why do n't you go play outside with your brother? 
 
 `` He wo n't play with me. He says I'm too girly.'' 
 
 `` Did he, now?'' 
 
 `` Grandpa.. Mommy says I should n't ask.. but are you writing about grandma?'' 
 
 I was mildly surprised by my six year old granddaughter. `` Yes. But not just her. I'm writing about all of us.'' 
 
 `` Huh? All of us? Even Jellyfish?'' 
 
 Upon hearing it's name, Jellyfish's ear perked up, but otherwise, the lazy husky remained lying with its eyes closed by the fire motionless. 
 
 `` Even him.'' 
 
 `` Am I in it?'' 
 
 `` Yes.'' 
 
 `` Wo n't it be boring? Nothing exciting is happening around us.'' 
 
 `` It will be boring to some. This is n't fiction. It's a true story.'' 
 
 `` What's fiction?'' 
 
 `` Well.. You know Peter Pan. And Harry Potter. These are stories. They did n't happen. These are works of imagination. These are fiction books. Mine is a real story about our family. It's a true, non-fictional book.'' 
 
 `` Oh.'' 
 
 She was frowning. I could see her mind working. 
 
 `` But.. if that's the case.. Wo n't our story end when you die?'' 
 
 Normally, if my daughter were here, she would be reprimanding Jane for asking questions like that. But she was n't. So Jane was in her ultimate, unadulterated, questioning and curious state. 
 
 `` Unless someone picks it up where I left off.'' 
 
 `` What?'' 
 
 `` I mean, someone else can continue the story when I die.'' 
 
 `` I can do it!'' 
 
 Jane looked absolutely excited at the notion. I leaned forward to ruffle her hair, feeling my back creak ominously. My bones were old and week. My time was short. I had to tell everyone what I found fifty years ago that led me to write. 
 
 `` Maybe when you're a little older. But until then, you can read what your great great grandfather, and his father, and his father, wrote about *their* families.'' 

