Mom. Ten. Years.

It has been ten years since my Mom died. It’s a hard milestone. I can think of nothing better to honour her than to start sending query letters for my novel. (For those not familiar, this is where you send a letter introducing your novel to a literary agent with some sample pages in the hopes they like it enough to take you on as a client.)

I started writing novels 15 years before she died. It was only the shitshow of 2020 that granted me time and energy to finish it. She was always not only proud of me, but told me often of how proud she was, which is the kind of next level parenting I try to bring to my game. I remember for some wedding anniversary I wrote a long funny poem in tribute. She asked me, “is there anything you can’t do?”. I never felt she was prouder of me than in that moment and I cherish now that it was about something I wrote.

So this morning I submitted letters to my top three agents, knowing that no matter the result, she would be proud of me. But I’m kinda hoping she’ll sprinkle some angle dust on them for extra luck.

Below is my tribute to my Mom which I read at her memorial service on June 1, 2011.

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A Sign from My Dead Mother

I have a story that I’ve only told a few people on the planet.

Mom and I on the last Mother’s Day, 2011 Marysville, WA

In the months after my Mom died, I went through what is probably normal: I wanted a sign. Not to know that she was ‘all right’ (I was sure she was), but to know that she was still here, somehow. I had a good friend whose wife had died, and he had the same desire and got an amazing sign that was indisputably from his wife. I got chills hearing it. (I won’t relay that here as it’s not mine to tell.)

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