One of the beautiful things about writing is being able to emotionally revisit those who have passed. My mother died a few years ago and she was a fabulous lady. Loving. Smart. Insanely funny.

I’m finishing up writing a Damien Hill prequel called Chamber. In it, Damien gets to have a conversation with his ailing mother and, while the words were moving from my mind to the keyboard, I got to live that scene as if it were my own mother. Not all the story complexities, but the emotional connection between a mother and son.

Because of writing, which is often an isolated experience, I was able to tell my mother, through Damien telling his, that I love her.

Cathartic tears followed.

Writing can be a pain in the buttocks at time, but, every once and a while, it can be magical.