What determibation, what courage to keep wtiting, whatever. Wd hould all think the same way when we get dusheartenef.
It wasn’t her real name, of course, but close enough. An author’s nom de plume. Still, seeing it at the end of the printed article gave her a thrill. Every time. I felt the same way when that first magazine dropped through the letterbox with my name at the end of the article. Like mother, like daughter. There was a pride in that, hard to put into words.
It was, for both of us, so many years apart, a small thing… but to a writer it means the world.
I am not a million-dollar author with a major publishing house, I am not even a respectably sized fish in that particular pond. But I am a writer.
It took me a long time to call myself that, to ‘own’ it, as a friend said the other day. My Mum was a writer…she had things printed all over the place…
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