I’ve always intended to dedicate my first published book to my mother. I poke a little fun at her here, since I can’t resist. However, I really do owe a lot of who I am–and what I’ve accomplished–to her. When I was in elementary school, I had mediocre grades–and my test scores placed me as ‘below average’ on several occasions. Well, she was bound and determined to prove that I was ‘gifted’ despite those scores. She worked hard to get me to improve in school, and she was a prime motivator behind my reading habits.
Now, my mother is a very practical person. She believes strongly in practical professions that pay well and are stable. Writing is neither one of these. I think she realized early on that despite her hopes, she wasn’t going to have a doctor or a business man–or even a scientist–for a son. She did convince me to major in biological chemistry as a freshman–though she said this was simply to put me in a better position for getting a scholarship (which I did get, by the way). However, I’ve always assumed that a little piece of her hoped that the bio-chem influence would persuade me to go to med. school, or to at least become an engineer.
That, obviously, did not happen. The big bad English monster took me in my sophomore year. However, my mother has always been supportive, and it was her sense of dedication, excellence, and assiduousness that forged my determined personality. Without that sense of self-determination, I would never have lasted in this field long enough to publish.
So, thank you mother. Thanks for being proud of me.