Saving My Mother...But Only in Words
I finally, finallygot my best friend Lisa to read my latest novel: a paranormal romance about a gypsy witch and a bloodthirsty vampire (are there any other kind). It’s sexy and funny, and full of action…so I thought the first thing she’d have to say would be about one of those things. I was betting on the sex scenes, because she likes her books on the racy side. Or maybe the connection between the witch and vampire—she loves romance. Secretly I was hoping she’d love the plot twists I’d labored over so hard.
But the first thing out of her mouth when she clicked off her Kindle was, “You got to save your mother.”
I stared at her, slack-jawed. What the hell was she talking about? My novel was a dark, sexy, action-packed paranormal romance. My mother had nothing at all to do with it.
“You were reading my book all this time, right?”
She’d brought her kindle on our little mini vacation to Lake Geneva, a regular summer hangout of ours for the last couple decades. I’d seen her laugh and shoot me a scathing glance a few times while she read, so I’d been sure she’d been reading my book.
“Dark Surrender?” she said. “Yep, that’s the one.”
She’d read all 75000 words in about four hours. She reads way faster than I can, and I’ve always felt sort of jealous. No, really jealous. But that means I get to borrow books from her far faster than she can from me.
We sat there for a few beats, just staring, before I caved in. “So would you like to elaborate?”
She looked at me like you would a small, not-so-bright child. “You really mean you have no idea?”
What the…
“No, Lisa, I haven’t a clue as to what the hell you’re talking about.” I took her kindle and powered it back on. “Where did I write my mother into this thing, because I don’t remember doing that.”
Actually, I went out of my way not to write anything even resembling my mother. It hurt too much. She’s not dead or anything like that. She’s mentally and physically I’ll, living in a nursing home not far from me. I’m there for hours every day, taking care of her and keeping her calm.
She seems to have an anxiety disorder from hell: like bipolar disorder, schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s combined, with a maddening jolt of OCD on top of it.
She’s been like this for nearly five years, and not one of the doctors I’ve taken her too has any clue as to what’s wrong with her. It’s like she’s trapped in a cacophony of anxiety and fear.
The look Lisa gave me was kind of sad. She’s usually sarcastic as hell, which is why I love her. We’ve been best friends for most of my adult life, and she’s the model I’ve used when I’ve written bitchy best friends into my stories in the past.
“Min’s mother,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Katarina.”
“What about her?” I just wasn’t getting it.
“Honey…isn’t what happens to her in the book sort of what’s happened with your mom?”
She was insane. They had nothing in common. Katarina was a witch. She was put into a mystical coma by an evil faerie queen. And my mother was a blue collar woman that had had to work every day of her life until she’d become ill—which had been violently sudden, the illness progressing within days.
She reached out and held my hand and looked me square in the eyes. “Honey, it’s the same thing. And in the story your heroine’s mother gets cured. By the end of the story she’s completely well.”
Oh…I dropped my gaze and closed my eyes. I pushed back the tears that were trying to flow. No need for that! I’d cried enough over the last five years.
But yeah, I got it. And it hurt. I’d saved my mother…but only in words.
I gave Lisa a withering smile. “Some best friend you are…ruining a perfectly good vacation with deep thoughts.”
But the first thing out of her mouth when she clicked off her Kindle was, “You got to save your mother.”
I stared at her, slack-jawed. What the hell was she talking about? My novel was a dark, sexy, action-packed paranormal romance. My mother had nothing at all to do with it.
“You were reading my book all this time, right?”
She’d brought her kindle on our little mini vacation to Lake Geneva, a regular summer hangout of ours for the last couple decades. I’d seen her laugh and shoot me a scathing glance a few times while she read, so I’d been sure she’d been reading my book.
“Dark Surrender?” she said. “Yep, that’s the one.”
She’d read all 75000 words in about four hours. She reads way faster than I can, and I’ve always felt sort of jealous. No, really jealous. But that means I get to borrow books from her far faster than she can from me.
We sat there for a few beats, just staring, before I caved in. “So would you like to elaborate?”
She looked at me like you would a small, not-so-bright child. “You really mean you have no idea?”
What the…
“No, Lisa, I haven’t a clue as to what the hell you’re talking about.” I took her kindle and powered it back on. “Where did I write my mother into this thing, because I don’t remember doing that.”
Actually, I went out of my way not to write anything even resembling my mother. It hurt too much. She’s not dead or anything like that. She’s mentally and physically I’ll, living in a nursing home not far from me. I’m there for hours every day, taking care of her and keeping her calm.
She seems to have an anxiety disorder from hell: like bipolar disorder, schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s combined, with a maddening jolt of OCD on top of it.
She’s been like this for nearly five years, and not one of the doctors I’ve taken her too has any clue as to what’s wrong with her. It’s like she’s trapped in a cacophony of anxiety and fear.
The look Lisa gave me was kind of sad. She’s usually sarcastic as hell, which is why I love her. We’ve been best friends for most of my adult life, and she’s the model I’ve used when I’ve written bitchy best friends into my stories in the past.
“Min’s mother,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Katarina.”
“What about her?” I just wasn’t getting it.
“Honey…isn’t what happens to her in the book sort of what’s happened with your mom?”
She was insane. They had nothing in common. Katarina was a witch. She was put into a mystical coma by an evil faerie queen. And my mother was a blue collar woman that had had to work every day of her life until she’d become ill—which had been violently sudden, the illness progressing within days.
She reached out and held my hand and looked me square in the eyes. “Honey, it’s the same thing. And in the story your heroine’s mother gets cured. By the end of the story she’s completely well.”
Oh…I dropped my gaze and closed my eyes. I pushed back the tears that were trying to flow. No need for that! I’d cried enough over the last five years.
But yeah, I got it. And it hurt. I’d saved my mother…but only in words.
I gave Lisa a withering smile. “Some best friend you are…ruining a perfectly good vacation with deep thoughts.”
No comments have been added yet.
