Tucked off to the side in a mundane looking office building was a small library. This was a magical place. My Mom would frequent there and bring home science fiction for me, with the strict admonition to “not tell your Father!” How she selected such books was a mystery until I was much older. The stories were not fantasy, but future scenarios based on believable technology. Many of them had a profound and lasting effect on me, so I remember those stories to this day.
I loved writing, and banged out some pretty wild stories of my own on an old, sticky keys, heavier than a boat anchor, Underwood. When I was old enough, I made my own trek to that library and fished out much needed facts and other research for my imaginings.
My Mother had been a secret writer, hiding the fact from a disapproving husband. That’s how she knew such great fiction, she’d been reading it herself! But she vehemently denied this, claiming she disdained science fiction. However, all those books had been carefully chosen, they were the best of the best, I never read any crap.
Unfortunately, my Mother either abandoned writing altogether, or destroyed her work. Her later years were spent devouring murder mystery novels, she was insatiable. She only confessed to being a writer then, but no amount of coaxing could persuade her to write one single line for me. A treasure lost.
Like so many other things, late in life, I have only come to appreciate the gifts my Mother gave me. The love of books, libraries, reading, research and writing came from her. Thank you Mom!
My Father was a non-fiction writer, but he never published his works. I discovered them in his paperwork long after his death. He had a fascination with geology and had literally written an entire text book on the subject.
Two treasures lost.