Lots of editing done last night. I'm also working on a short story so my writing time is divided between the two at the moment.
I spoke with my dad last night. It was a stressful conversation for me as we had to ask for his help with paying for the newest van repairs ($350.00). At forty-one years old, it feels awful to have to looking for this kind of help, but I was concerned about taking more debt than we could pay. It was the first time in seventeen years that we've looked to him for any help with this kind of thing. He said yes, but in the background, I could feel his disappointment. He's a millionare--very good with money--not so good with people. Though he and I talk on the phone six or seven times a year, my sons know him as a picture on the wall and from the stories I've told them about his cowboy adventures. They've seen him maybe four times in their lives. After our last visit, we decided it was a waste of time to drive hundreds of miles to sit around his house and wait until late evening for him to return. He's only been to see us once. My sons don't know that he's made his children feel like we are less important to him than his job for most of our lives.
His response to my writing has always been "but can you make money at it"? And he does not understand why I pursue it, as I'm clearly not going to get rich doing it (everything he does revolves around money--even his hobbies are lucrative). I told him I'd sold a story recently (my biggest sale so far) and his response was "how much did you make"? I told him and he said, "That's all? All those hours of work and that's all you're getting?" I gave up explaining this to him a long time ago. I think I'll just wait until I hit the best seller list before I say anything to him again.