I had every intention of posting last week.
I was going to post a review of a novel a friend of mine wrote. I was going to post what this actually is: musings about the anniversary of my Dad's death. But I couldn't do it. My Dad's death in particular, I couldn't write about last week. It's so much deeper than just his passing.
That event kicked in motion what's been the most interesting year of my life.
My dad died and I had to take out a loan on the car I had just paid off. I needed the money for a last minute flight to , New York. I used the remainder to publish The Favorite. I started learning valuable skills which I can and will use throughout my writing career (marketing skills, speaking skills, etc.). And ultimately, I fulfilled a dream my dad had for me.
I remember a car ride when I was in my early teens with my dad and my brother. I forget what started it, but I do remember, vividly, him talking about picking something and being good at it. "Even if it's a bank robber," he said, "find something you love and keep doing it.". I'll be honest, when he said those words, even for years after, I can't say I was applying them on purpose. They didn't inspire me to do what I wanted to. Lately though, I've been thinking about him, a lot. I suppose it's natural, his passing is still relatively fresh. And I don't know why, but those words in particular, from a random day in New York more than 20 years ago bubbled up to the surface.
I'm doing what I love. And I won't stop.
My Dad's last great gift to me was the means to accomplish a dream, and the means to take a very wild ride.