If you told me I’d one day credit my mother for my writing career, I’d have fallen over holding my sides from hysterical laughter. I’ll explain.
Growing up there was always something creative going on in my head. Because of my comic book reading, I filled notebooks with my own stories with artwork. The art was far from good, but at one time, it’s what I aspired to be. It was my favorite subject. I even had one of my projects hung up above the door of the main office at my elementary school. I’m not sure how much of this my mom knew about because she was never that interested in it.
As I got older, I moved on to music and asked for a guitar for Christmas. My mom didn’t spoil me, but she tried to get me the things I really wanted and that same year I got the guitar. I found a guitar teacher and the first few lessons were paid for and that was it. I couldn’t afford them, so I was on my own and taught myself how to play. Again, I never bothered to share any of what I was doing because I knew there was no interest.
When it came time for college, I wanted a music degree. After one semester, I was told no more would be paid for and I had to pick a new profession. It upset me, but I didn’t hold it against her because I understood music was a shaky career move at best. I took a break from all things creative while I got my degree.
Ten seconds after graduating, I was in a band again and I did that for a bunch of years. Occasionally my mom asked if I was still in the band, but it sounded more like, “Are you still in the band?”
Now fast-forward to a few years ago. The band is over, I’m dating my future wife and writing with serious aspirations. My mom has left her career when most people are planning their retirement to go into business for herself. I was excited for her, but at the same time, without anything close to a strong relationship, I kept my distance. This went on for I’m not sure how long and then something weird happened. I grew up a little.
I was newly married and looking at my adulthood differently because thoughts of having my own family were swirling in my head. It got me thinking of how I was raised and all the things I would do differently. I wouldn’t make the same mistakes as I saw them. During that thought process, I started to realize there was a lot more I had in common with my mom than I thought.
She’s an entrepreneur. An idea came to her, she visualized it and made it come true, HER way. That sounds familiar.
Shortly after, I became more involved in her business. It’s not a whole lot, but it is what she really needed.
Our relationship’s gotten better and now on the occasion when she asks about my writing, it feels like she’s interested in my answer. I don’t know exactly why that is. Maybe there’s been maturity and growth on both sides (I can admit I wasn’t the easiest teenager to be around.) or maybe she can appreciate what I’m doing because of her own business. Maybe a lot of things. What I DO know is this energy driving me to write, to want to publish on my own, to be an entrepreneur, was wired into my DNA by my mom.
Info Stuff- Follow my ROW80 progress every Wednesday and Sunday and for the month of February, Tuesdays and Thursdays will be devoted to my Love series. Eight loves that have shaped me into the writer I am.
And the interview I did on Draven Ames‘s blog is up. We talked Buffy, zombies and a bunch of other stuff.