Lucky for her, those stories were only ten to twenty pages long. As I grew older, I began typing on the typewriter myself (after hitting my first 50 page book, they upgraded me to a really old computer). Even still, she would revise my papers. She was the first to read the Curse of Atlantis (a close to 400pg book that came out of nowhere). But, more importantly to me, she was the one to fight me through the plot. This doesn’t work, I don’t understand that, but you didn’t fix this. I cringe to think how loopy the plot would be without her.
I wrote for her pleasure. She was my drive to create—to see how my avid reader would react. But I have learned so much from her. I have learned to structure plot. I have learned character development is important to grab her attention. And, yes, every story needs a small romance to keep her interest. :) Even still, I go to her first with my crazy questions. What’s the word for…? What do you think of…? I have an idea for.... And, the best one, I’m stuck, talk me through this. Even though I always discount her ideas, they spark new ones that propel me forward. And she loves me enough not to be offended. She has battled me through the What do you mean I’m not perfect phase of taking criticism, molding me into someone who now values and craves it. She is my cheerleader, my mentor, and my number one fan. She is the one who catches my stupid homophone dilemma: past vs passed, loud vs load, wondered instead of wandered.
I would be nothing as a writer without her. In all honesty, I wouldn’t even still be writing without her. So, on this weekend to honor mothers, I honor mine. God blessed me with a mother I truly needed and no one else would have measured up!