New project woes....

So, I am collaborating with my daughter on a middle grade book called WeatherGirl. It is a great idea for a seven year old - believe me - and I am so proud of her. The issue arising is creative differences. Yes, I said it. Creative differences between myself and my seven year old child who apparently has a firm idea in her head of what WeatherGirl should sound like. Apparently I made the mistake of thinking my thirty-eh-hem years and already published books meant something to my child. Fortunately, it means a little more now that I made her sit down and start some character development and scene-setting. I mean, we have been kicking this idea around for weeks before I started her in on the writing process. She had no idea how much work went into a story, let alone a book. This is all good for her to learn, I mean, she is very bright and needs a new challenge which this will give her. So, the real challenge here? I think her idea is so brilliant that I am incredibly eager to work on it. I just started hashing out a general synopsis, a potential beginning, nothing serious because as I said, I am putting her through the real process. Anyway, she hated it. Tears, frustration, the whole thing. The little bit she read upset her so much. I'm hoping it is just a combination of her being tired and me going too fast, but we are definitely off to a rocky start with WeatherGirl. *sigh* Incidentally, what do you all think? Autumn Lavender lived in a large white house with fading black shutters and the best kept lawn in Kempsville. She had two loving parents who reminded her every day that they loved her. Autumn also had three younger brothers who reminded her every day that they didn’t love her. She walked to Briarwood Middle School with her best friend, Amelia. Her family believed in Sunday dinners together (though her brothers tended to kick her under the table and try to steal her dessert). Autumn played sports, especially soccer and basketball, but she loved to read. In short, Autumn Lavender was just like every other twelve year old girl in the great, big world. Except, she wasn’t.