by Laura Bickle
Wonder Woman oversees my writing.
But she still watches me write. Not her, but a sixteen-inch Wonder Woman replica doll, perched on my desk. She’s powerful, fearless of my mistakes and indecision. She doesn’t snicker when I read a run-on sentence aloud. Being plastic, she’s not terribly judgmental.
I've admired her since I was a little girl, when I got my first Wonder Woman doll and pored over her adventures in comics. I admired her - she always made her own way, leaving behind a very nice gig as a princess on Paradise Island to go fight evil in our world. Wonder Woman wasn't a fainting, helpless little fleur in need of perpetual rescue - she was brave and brilliant, self-reliant and powerful. And beautiful and gentle. She had a career and a secret identity and a love interest she rescued every other week - what more could a girl want to be?
She still does. When I sit down at the desk, I feel a bit different. Like Diana Prince becoming Wonder Woman, I’m transformed into a writer. It's a subtle change, but I feel as if I'm in command of this little world I'm creating.
I sit and chew on a pen, staring at the Wonder Woman doll, my silent cheering squad. She reminds me to forge ahead, to be powerful. That if the entire word can be saved from hordes of alien invaders by one woman… one woman wearing high-heeled boots, no less… I can put on my own Wonder Woman boots to power through this story.
Resolutely, I put pen to paper.