I'm fiscally anxious in as much as I am fiscally irresponsible. With the wedding come costs on costs. The dress needs to be altered. The flower girl a basket, the hall another deposit. Everyone has some say in how I can best save money and while I appreciate and solicit their advice I wish I could just fall back on success to quiet the concern.
Hiro, my savvy supporter, insists that I keep writing. He thinks writing is our ticket to success. He asks that I draft the ticket, publish it and collect the earnings. It's cute. Trouble is, I think he really believes it.
I've never had such a hero. He stands by, patiently, persistently while I drum out clumsy phrases and turn nasty in my bouts of doubt. He just can't seem to give up on hope, and I am truly fortunate to have such an editor in my corner.
So for Hiro I write. And for myself. And for the dreams I thought deferred. But for he I write all I can, in the hopes of one day making us proud.
A snippet of what's to come:
Looking back, what a terrible way to introduce her. But I can’t help the association. The memory has secured itself and when I think of her, I often remember little moments of weakness. I don’t believe I do so out of spite, but perhaps to convince myself that she is a mortal. That she is subject to the endeavors of everyday living. Which she has. And still does, although we all refuse to believe it. She is just that good an actor. So we have to remember her at fault, if we are to remember her at all, with any semblance of love.
