If you’ve ever written a book, you know that it can be one of the most challenging, exasperating, and frustrating experiences. And those are the positive aspects of such an undertaking! So after my first book was released, I thought, why not write another book? Won’t that be fun.

So one day well into year two of working on my book for teens entitled Cycle Savvy, a bee (nay, wasp) landed on my computer as I was working on the manuscript. No problem. I’m a big girl. I can handle it. Grab a piece of cardboard and a jar, capture said wasp, open the window and let it fly free to be with its family.

An hour later, as I’m continuing to work on the book, another wasp starts buzzing around my head. And another. Soon, about six wasps were flying around having a party. Me, though? Not finding it so celebratory. At this point, I’m really starting to freak out. What person in their right mind would continue to type away with a swarm of wasps dive bombing the keyboard? A person with a book deadline, that’s who.

In fact, I was under so much pressure that I did what any other weenie would do in my situation. That night, rather than deal with them, I decided to open the window as wide as possible, shut the door behind me and hope to God that they’d be gone by the morning. When I opened the door the next day, I was thrilled to see that my plan worked. So I closed the window, patted myself on the back for my bravery under pressure, and proceeded to type away once more.

But soon, the light tapping of my computer keys were drowned out by the buzzing emanating from behind my computer. And one by one, wasps started flying out from behind the computer, every few seconds as if on cue until there were probably 30 or so forming a convention in my office.

Called a beekeeper who cheerily offered to come immediately and save me from myself. Of course, he wasn’t too pleased when he arrived and discovered that they weren’t sweet little honey bees. Turns out that wasps had built a hive inside the wall, without so much as applying for a building permit. Now that’s what I call chutzpah.