A couple weeks ago, my daughter and I were having dinner, just the two of us. I asked her, “Elena, you know I wrote this book for you, right?”
“Yeah . . . I know,” she said, her voice tender, full of understanding.
Elena has witnessed my struggle over the years, my heartache at the dozens of rejections from agents and publishers, and my labor over countless rewrites. She has heard me cry that I wanted to give up. She knows how hard I worked yet all this time, I never shared the why.
After so many years—nearly ten—of writing my novel, the thought that it will be released within as little as three months is daunting: to come to end of the road of a long journey. Am I ready to switch gears to promote it, a journey of a whole other kind, from creative to sales?
She saw my exuberant cheering when it was accepted for publication. Watched me jump up and down with joy.
I wanted to write a beautiful book. I wanted to share a story that is so inspirational and important to me to pass on this story to others. I wanted to give a gift to my father for all his patience, time and willingness to share the intimate details of his life with me so honestly.
But mostly I wrote my father’s story to share it with my daughter, so she may discover that rich and beautiful part of her heritage.
And all this time, Elena has understood the book project was in part for her. She also knows her mother is a little bit loca.
Describe an event when a child or any other young person in your life got you, understood you in a way that surprised you. Or: Write about your reasons for accomplishing something for others.