This is Why I Write

I’m so very lucky, as a published author, to be able to work at a library. Sometimes I get feedback from people who read my books. I’ve been very fortunate in that the people who tell me that they like my work really, REALLY like it. (I guess the people who think it’s crap just, you know, keep their opinions to themselves. Which is nice.)

Anyway, a patron came in the other day with her daughter, who was visiting from Texas. Both women had books of mine that they wanted me to sign, which I happily did. We got to chatting, and the older woman told me how proud she was of me for doing such a grand job with the books, and that she brags about me to her friends. And then she said something that will stick with me for the rest of my life.

“You’re doing what I wish I could do,” she sighed.

That stopped me in my tracks for a bit. I’ve published a few books, yeah. People have enjoyed them, I’m happy to say. Lately, I’ve been doing research for two upcoming projects, and kinda sorta dragging my feet on starting the actual writing of the next book. (I tell myself that’s because the research isn’t finished yet, but it’s really because it’s summer and my garden and my porch swing are both calling me with the siren song of long lazy warm evenings.)

But I am so ridiculously privileged to be able to do this writing thing for a hobby, and to have other people enjoy the work that I do. I forget that sometimes. But jeez, it’s a Big Deal. Not everyone gets to do this. Not everyone CAN do this. I can, and I am forever grateful for it. So thank you, Grace, for reminding me of this.