It may seem odd or insensitive, but my mother’s death seems to be bringing out the best in me creatively. I started my new novel shortly after I learned she had terminal cancer, and although matters of taking care of her leading up to her death, as well as her funeral, have kept my wife and I busy, I’ve been amazed how motivated I’ve been to write, even through those times.
Perhaps it’s because her mortality reminds me of my own. Perhaps it’s because I want to do something that she knew I loved, and finally do it right. Or perhaps it’s God using the event to light a fire under my butt.
Whatever the case, it’s motivating me and it’s a whole lot more interesting to be writing a novel than indulging in, for example, futures trading.
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