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I would make terrible Nic’ Cage, I can’t get that weird movie run he does right. Also I have way to much hair and I’m pretty sure I can act. (Don’t get me wrong, Cage, I actually like your movies, I’m also just a realist.)

Back to ghost writing.

My dad is writing a book. It’s a “the origin’s and history of” sort of thing about the non-profit my family runs, LifeLight., a music and missions ministry. He’s been working on it sporadically in the very few and frequently stolen times when he isn’t doing 15 other things at once. That’s a lot less hyperbole then you think, I promise.

He has a gift for speaking. He had years of training as a sales man to hone those skills, though no crowd as tough as myself and my two sisters. He love/hates practicing on us, mostly because he can hardly get the first sentence out before we have a list of things he’s doing wrong. It’s tough love and he’s better for it. The years of speaking though, make him a terrible writer. Writing a picture and vocally telling a story are two very different things, so that’s where I come in.

I’ve only been doing for roughly a week but I’ve already learned two very important things.

1) My dad’s ADD is much, much worse than any of the family could have ever thought.

2 – and this is more of a confirmation then a realization,) My dad and I are very, very alike.

Every bad writing habit I’ve taught myself out of over the years has some sort of genetic root in my dad. Even the weird ones that I haven’t been able to shake, like starting a sentence with one whole and complete thought, but getting lost half way through and ending it with the back half of another thought entirely. It’s not because we don’t know what we meant or didn’t know how to word what we were thinking. It’s because our brain is going faster than our fingers and little pieces get lost on their journey from our heads to the tips of our fingers.

We are a lot alike in other ways too, like ice cream. If we are sent to the store for chocolate ice cream we will not bring back the six dollar quart of double chocolate velvet by Dove. We will bring back the two dollar store brand gallon bucket. It’s not that we don’t like double chocolate whateveritwas (As a dame who takes her chocolate seriously, Dove ice cream is a monument amongst ice ream, really,) it’s that the store brand is 4x the ice cream for a third the cost. This deal leaves us more money for our coffee the next morning which is our only real motivation to get out of bed and do all of the things that getting out of bed means doing.

We are also very un-alike in other ways. My dad, whom I love dearly, is so literal that I haven’t had the heart to tell him that Andy Warhol is not, in fact, in the soup advertising business.

The differences though, are nice. Working through the drafts of his book I run across shared memories that paint a picture of me, personal, that I would never considered about myself. Some are nice, others reminded me that since at least the age of 6 I have been a super nerd. Not the cute Zoe Deschanel awkward sort of nerd mind you. (Hollywood, being adorable and wearing polka dots does not make you a nerd, it makes you an 8 year old in a grown up’s body. I don’t know why you have so much trouble with this, but stop. Okay? Stop.) I’m more like what ever the opposite of Zoe Deschanel is. I don’t have a comparable person for that, oh wait, yes I do –

Nicolas Cage.

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