I’m polishing up my second shaky draft, and in December it will have been ten years since I started this project. The writing has gotten easier although raking over the content has not. I got stuck on revising when my editor asked “How did you know how much Patty loved her son if you were estranged? Or were you “certain” because you knew Patty?
That was a tough question to answer. I had to admit that I couldn’t know for sure. Though there is something at my core that is telling me she definitely loved her son. She, like so many of us, just wanted to be surrounded by a loving family. To love and be loved.
And perhaps she was in no position to be parenting. And I’m trying to say in the book that you can love your kid and still be a crap parent. Yes, I knew Patty. But then people change. Or aspects of people reveal themselves over time and you have to revise how you thought about that person. Drugs changed Patty. I’ve been around the block enough to know how they can distort your personality, compromise your morals. She may not have been an ideal mother, but she was a loving mother. My gut tells me so.
Maurice. It is a classic name and denotes strength and dignity. Let’s hope there’s some truth to that. That kid may have a few obstacles along the road. I’m always searching for evidence to prove myself wrong on this front. I want to hear from him, hear about his beautiful life. I want to hear his tale of resilience. He will tell me his and I will tell him mine.
