I wanted my first blog to be about my father. It was written last February. Now it's a year later and he's still fighting. Still struggling to carve out a life surrounded by pain.
Still the strongest man I know.
Since last year, I've won several writing contests and finaled in a handful of others. Still not published, but I feel I'm closer. I feel like one day I'll get the chance to dedicate 'Shadowalker' to him. In public, where everyone knows how much of an inspiration he is for me.
So, once again, I dedicate this blog as well to him. A year later. A year longer I've had to love him. A year more to learn all his dreams that he shared with me.
To the new species of man, my father, Danny Conway.
Monday, February 18, 2008
How do you function when someone is sick? Not sick as in a cold, but dying?
My past, I'm sure, is like a thousand other women. Bad childhood. Bad family. Bad life. So, when I was rescued by my then boyfriend, now husband, when I was a kid, his family became mine. No, they're not perfect. I've spoke about them before here, but there mine.
MINE!
And now the only father I've ever known is dying. I'm 30 years old and still yet I call him by name. I can't say "father" or "dad". I don't know why. Fear of rejection. Fear of showing emotion. Or just plain fear.
My fight or flight response is very active even after all these years, which is probably why I'm a writer. Its safe here.
In my world people don't die. In my world I can tell my "dad" that the basis for my book I'm writing about is him. He's given me the inspiration and because of his long illness it's given me a realness to my character that I wish I never had.
In my world, if I'm ever published, I'd dedicate it to him so the whole world would know what a wonderful man he is. To take a troubled girl in his house. To support her and encourage her dream of writing, of all things, romance. Vampire romance, no less.
Even when his skin becomes so pale it looks as though the blood has drained from his body. Even as his body shrivels up and he doesn't know where he is. Even when he's so weak he can't get out of bed. Even when he takes sometimes 30 pills a day in the hopes that his 2nd liver transplant doesn't reject.
Even when he's told his Hep. C has returned and they won't give him another one.
He asks about me and my writing.
Me, the little nobody that's scared of her own shadow and sits at home and writes in her bedroom about imaginary creatures in the night.
But, vampires don't die, do they? They live forever. So even if I don't ever get published I'd like for whoever reads this blog, when they read my book, its for him. For my father. In it he will live forever. Just like my vampires.
Sena
My past, I'm sure, is like a thousand other women. Bad childhood. Bad family. Bad life. So, when I was rescued by my then boyfriend, now husband, when I was a kid, his family became mine. No, they're not perfect. I've spoke about them before here, but there mine.
MINE!
And now the only father I've ever known is dying. I'm 30 years old and still yet I call him by name. I can't say "father" or "dad". I don't know why. Fear of rejection. Fear of showing emotion. Or just plain fear.
My fight or flight response is very active even after all these years, which is probably why I'm a writer. Its safe here.
In my world people don't die. In my world I can tell my "dad" that the basis for my book I'm writing about is him. He's given me the inspiration and because of his long illness it's given me a realness to my character that I wish I never had.
In my world, if I'm ever published, I'd dedicate it to him so the whole world would know what a wonderful man he is. To take a troubled girl in his house. To support her and encourage her dream of writing, of all things, romance. Vampire romance, no less.
Even when his skin becomes so pale it looks as though the blood has drained from his body. Even as his body shrivels up and he doesn't know where he is. Even when he's so weak he can't get out of bed. Even when he takes sometimes 30 pills a day in the hopes that his 2nd liver transplant doesn't reject.
Even when he's told his Hep. C has returned and they won't give him another one.
He asks about me and my writing.
Me, the little nobody that's scared of her own shadow and sits at home and writes in her bedroom about imaginary creatures in the night.
But, vampires don't die, do they? They live forever. So even if I don't ever get published I'd like for whoever reads this blog, when they read my book, its for him. For my father. In it he will live forever. Just like my vampires.
Sena
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)