This is my mom, Deb.*
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Notice the gobs of books behind us? This is one shelf of many at my parents' house. She could open a used book store; we tease her about it all the time.
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My mom is the one from whom I got my love of books. A paperback was never far from her reach, and that kind of thing gets impressed upon a kid. It didn't hurt that she took my sister and me to the library frequently, as soon as we were old enough to appreciate it. I remember lugging home as many books as the library would allow, and relishing every one. The feel of the cool, smooth pages in my small hands. The musty, used smell. I love all of it. I love books.
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It's also my mom who has encouraged me to write for as long as I can remember. Even as a young student, when I probably didn't attribute much to the idea of "being a writer," she'd pore over things I wrote for classes... There was one essay, Plaid Pants, I wrote about the polyester outfit she "forced" me to wear in the early 80's, when I was 5 years old. Ugh, it was horrible. You could feel my pain in that short blurb. Then, and other times, she said, "Janna, you should be a writer."
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Somewhere along the way I started to feel the same. I never had an English teacher who took me under her wing, or helped cultivate my talent: It's something I found on my own. But my mom was always there with encouragement, kind of helping me unearth my potential.
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Then, last year, a childhood friend of hers published a novel based on his boyhood. She was touched by his recounting of the growing up years, set in the area she was raised, during the telling of which my uncle (and Mom's brother), it seemed, filled the fictional role of the main character's buddy. She appreciated her old friend's talent, saw his achievement, the fact that he'd done it; written a book and seen it to publication. And she felt it. I think she understood everything my desire represents.
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"Promise me, Janna. Promise you'll see your dream happen." And I did.
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So see? Now I have to do it. I have to keep writing. I have to follow it through. Because I promised her. And because I promised me.
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Have you made a promise? To yourself or someone else? If not, I suggest you do. It goes a long way in lighting one's fire, in holding oneself accountable.
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And I wish you the best.
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*This is one of my favorite pictures, taken just a couple months after her "surprise" double-bypass... She'd gone to the hospital one Friday afternoon, feeling "off" but suspecting what was happening - though she'd always, always been healthy, and by Monday morning she was having open-heart surgery. She was very blessed, and is now heart-healthy.
